What such a singularity might mean for those parts of human experience given shape by embodiment, loss, limitation or adversity is rarely made clear in such optimistic accounts of human/machine fusion. Those experiences, though, do form a vital part of what’s lovable about ABBA’s classic oeuvre: their improbable ability to set human complexity, fallibility and pain to a sing-along disco beat.
The theme of Mamma Mia, for example, is a woman who keeps going back to a serial cheater. In some hands this would be dark material for a misery-fest. In ABBA’s hands, it’s a jolly wedding-disco classic. One wonders: would homo creatus be capable of such paradoxes?
Regardless, this bittersweet-disco energy has made ABBA irresistible for every decade since they first hit megastardom. And ABBA’s two new releases have the age-old mix of human complexity with sing-along cheese that’s most endearing about their music. They’re as catchy and human as ever, with lyrics about love and friendship that feel like they’re written by people too far past the flush of youth to be dizzied by sex or easy promises of ‘forever’.
Tickets have just gone on sale for a tour in which ABBA updates this Seventies paradox with one that couldn’t be more 2021: the “Voyage” experience, where the band will appear as digital versions of their younger selves, called “ABBAtars”, created by George Lucas’ studio Industrial Light & Magic.
Ray Kurzweil premiered the precursor to the “ABBAtars” two decades ago, at a TED talk in which he appeared in the guise of “Ramona”, his “female” digital alter ego. “Ramona”, a kind of holographic puppet, was operated remotely via sensors on Kurzweil’s body, combined with voice-change technology that reformatted his voice in more feminine tones. The result is, as you can see, unsettling to say the least.
But CGI has got better since then, as the rise of “deepfake” footage (and even deepfake pornography) attests. The ‘ABBAtar’ footage that appears toward the end of the I Still Have Faith In You video looks convincingly on a continuum with the video’s many clips of their 1970s footage. Inasmuch as there’s a difference, it’s no more so than the gap between someone today posting on Instagram with and without filters. In other words, comfortably within the acceptable envelope of digitally-enhanced reality as we’re accustomed to it today.
“Virtual reality…you can be someone else” Kurzweil claimed two decades ago, in the guise of Ramona. We’re now waist-deep into our mass experiment in what happens when the boomer generation encourages its offspring to believe that this is (at least online) literally true. But regardless of the effect such claims may have on those who’ve never known a world without internet, the boomer race to create a de-corporealised haven from the Grim Reaper is growing ever more urgent as the boomers themselves become, corporeally, more haggard.
It’s not clear whether the band will perform as themselves at their ‘Voyage’ events. But why should they? They’ve arguably just come closer than Ray Kurzweil has managed yet to achieving boomer apotheosis: eternally perky, fresh, un-dying versions of their youthful selves, able to continue indefinitely doing what those younger selves did, without ever getting tired, ill or divorced.
Thus, once again, ABBA are the kings and queens of paradox. In the Seventies they stretched the tension between upbeat music and tragic lyrics to breaking-point. And their musical relaunch offers songs about the scars left by time’s passage, in digital avatars that spare the band any unflattering contrast between their dewy youthful public image and craggy, ageing contemporary selves.
The ‘trad’ in me wonders whether any of this is even necessary. My mum gave me her ABBA compilation when I was a tween in the early Nineties, and the same compilation is now my primary-age daughter’s favourite. I can’t think of another band that could unite three generations of women in singing at the tops of our voices in the car. Surely having fostered that kind of intergenerational love of cheesy pop is immortality enough?
Regardless, it’s clear that ABBA weren’t just a key sound of the Seventies, and (in revival) the Nineties. They’ve also captured a key 2020s boomer zeitgeist: the wisdom of age, with a glossy coat of high-tech optimism, over a howling abyss of memento mori.
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