The poster for ABBA Voyage promises ‘a concert like no other’. Most of us will know this by now because these posters are everywhere. For three years I’d resisted this Leviathan of marketing – I once counted 15 ads on my 10-stop commute on the London Underground. The campaign’s working, with two million fans having flocked to the ABBA Arena in Stratford so far. And now I am one of them.
Skimming the reviews ahead of the gig, I admit to getting a bit carried away. The Guardian called it ‘jaw-dropping’, the Telegraph said it was ‘mind-blowing’ and the Standard praised it as ‘the future of music’. Only the Independent mustered a chirrup of slight criticism, but still dished out four stars.
The show was on a Saturday – and what a show. Technology on the level of a magic trick. Animations that make Pixar look sloppy. Lightshows so grand, the Greens would have them banned.
And then there are avatars of ABBA themselves – LED projections of computer-generated images using motion-capture technology. I won’t pretend to know what that means, never mind how it works. But they looked great, leagues ahead of humble holograms. So bravo to the geeks in the wings. Their creations were almost like the real thing…
I say almost, because as impressive as they were, they fell short. All the whizz-bang magic on display couldn’t suppress the nagging awareness that it’s really not ABBA up there.
The originals are tough acts to follow. Agnetha and Frida had all the thrust and sweat of dancing queens on a rock stage, something their digital selves lacked – they were more wooden than a Swedish flatpack. On one or two ballads, the soft steps and arm twirls were graceful enough. But the bangers were sapped of all their fluid vitality. It wasn’t quite the genital-free puppet intercourse of Team America: World Police, but rarely have songs about falling in and out of love seemed so sexless. Maybe that’s why the avatars were stuck at the back of the stage: any closer and the flaws would’ve even been more glaring than they already were.
If the dancing was bad, the ‘banter’ was even worse. The reason a few words between songs are enjoyed – so long as they don’t preach – is their spontaneity. In a quiet moment, it’s like our heroes are confiding in us. Musicians needn’t be raconteurs, just themselves. REM’s Michael Stipe, Radiohead’s Thom Yorke and the National’s Matt Berninger are all members of the Shy Frontman Club, and fans adore them for it. But the scripted pre-records that we got on Saturday were as fluent as they were fake. The rare laughs they elicited were snuffed out when we remembered that the stars wouldn’t be acknowledging our side of the exchange. ‘Authenticity’ might be a buzzword, but you miss it when it’s gone.
It’s perhaps churlish to find fault with the avatars and then complain when they leave the stage. But for many of the songs, and some of the biggest hits, the band took a breather – presumably, while the rig was reprogrammed for the next outfit change. During these breaks we were treated to cartoons depicting stories no one cared about or archive footage that everyone had seen before. On ‘Waterloo’, we got the old Eurovision clip.
The loudest roar of the night wasn’t for ‘Mamma Mia’ or ‘Dancing Queen’. Revealingly, it came when the live band rose from the pit for their two minutes of fame. Seldom has a crowd been so thrilled by the sight of backing singers. We didn’t know their names, but one thing was clear – they were human. Our cheers were an eloquent retort to technological takeover. An hour in, the night had come to life.
When the curtain fell, after ‘The Winner Takes It All’ for the encore, I thought about the reviews of three years ago. Back then, most of us hadn’t heard of OpenAI, ChatGPT or Sam Altman. But, now, the technologists aren’t just building avatars of beloved popstars. They’re also coming for our jobs and, some say, the species. The future isn’t five-star entertainment, but techno-feudalism. On the Tube home, I passed those posters again, glowing with journalists’ quotes. How differently they might’ve read if penned today.
But take heart. There’s at least one industry free from the jaws of Big Tech. On Saturday’s evidence, it’s live music. Yes, the technology will improve. But it’ll be a while before an avatar can move like Jagger, or boss Wembley like Springsteen, or even jerk like Yorke. The future of music might be human after all.
Jonny Ford is a stand-up comedian.
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