From .birminghammail.co.uk: "I went to see Abba Voyage and I felt like I was at a concert 100 years in the future rather than 2022"
sábado, 29 de octubre de 2022
I went to see Abba Voyage and I felt like I was at a concert 100 years in the future rather than 2022
miércoles, 26 de octubre de 2022
domingo, 23 de octubre de 2022
Per Sundin: "New destination - New adventure; Singapore"
News? About?
From Instagram: perurban
Senior Product Manager Universal Music Group & Co-Lead CMA Task Force Germany
viernes, 14 de octubre de 2022
ABBA Voyage Premiere - Frida and Björn
ABBA’s Triumphant Return
ABBA’s Triumphant Return
I’ve seen the best. The maddest and the fieriest and the deepest and the heaviest. I’ve watched them, open-mouthed: HR, from Bad Brains, executing a perfect backflip to land crisply on the band’s last syllable of chord-crash; Patti Smith singing “Beneath the Southern Cross,” heaving open the doors to the underworld with the pressure of her own breath; Iggy Pop, berserk, doing “I Wanna Be Your Dog” with Sonic Youth as his backing band. And none of these, none of these, transported me in quite the manner in which I was transported a few weeks ago by a vision of ABBA.
And it was a vision. At a purpose-built arena in East London, ABBA—those smiley, soft-spoken radicals; those almost blandly futuristic Swedes—has orchestrated an immaculate 3,000-person, 95-minute digital hallucination. This is CGI stuff, the outer limit. Four figures appear onstage before us, avatars, daemons, numina, whatever they are, denser than holograms, more shimmeringly charged than human beings, with a kind of atomic brightness, composites of light and longing. And we know them: Björn, Benny, Agnetha, Frida, in their late-’70s/early-’80s pomp, their poppiest plumage, variously nodding and swishing and keening and twinkling and making little gracious gestures. Huge sidescreens give us close-ups, flashes of realism—the eyes, the sweat on the cheekbones. Holy shit. ABBA!
ABBA Voyage was five years and zillions of dollars in the making, a meisterwerk created with Industrial Light & Magic, the visual-effects company founded by George Lucas. And it’s the future, quite obviously. Present-day old-age ABBA, having worked for weeks in motion-capture suits to get the genetic code of ABBA-ness into the ILM computers, can now sit back as these radiant editions of their younger, prettier selves sell the place out night after night. The brain buys it, is the point: Your wobbly old analog brain, as you watch these figments come high-heeling out of the digital ether, is very happy to accept them as real. Very happy to weep, cheer, join in the chorus, wave your arms. It’s a success, artistically and … neurologically. This could go to Vegas, this could go to Sydney, this could go anywhere. Everywhere. The Rolling Stones could do it. Lana Del Rey could do it. The pop star as pure illusion, pure imago, pure energy state, infinitely reproducible and infinitely potent if you have the tech. David Bowie, where are you?
(Actually, I know where David Bowie is, at least tonight. He is weirdly inhabiting the cyberapparition of ABBA’s Frida, who is revealed by this experience, and by the trick of time, as not a sweet and cheesy pop star but a teetering, angular ’70s-style rock star, loaded with otherworldliness. Her disco hauteur, her hair of Ziggy-est red, the filter of alienation on her beauty, and the seam of coldness in her voice. Frida’s onstage authority, even as the rest of ABBA boogies and beams around her, even as she boogies and beams, is Bowie-esque, Bowie-echoing, no other way to put it.)
They—“they”—open with the massive, foreboding synth-throb of “The Visitors.” Perfect choice: the most paranoid and eerily electronicized of all ABBA songs. “I hear the doorbell ring and suddenly the panic takes me / The sound so ominously tearing through the silence.” Sung by Frida, of course, in a sinuous, ceremonial, artificially thinned voice. “And now they’ve come to take me / Come to break me …” She—“she”—raises her arms, phoenixlike, and light spatters off her amazing, bedazzling cape, all around the arena. It’s jaw-dropping, literally: I go Uuuuuuuuh …
Part of the secret of ABBA’s music is its inorganic quality—the ticktock notes at the beginning of “Mamma Mia,” the robotically chanted backing vocals to “Take a Chance on Me”—as if among its primary elements of tinkly Euro-pop and Scandinavian sing-along were Kraftwerk and Gary Numan. ABBA Voyage’s director, Baillie Walsh, when asked in the official concert program how he would describe ABBA to someone who’s never heard them, answers: “A folk group from Mars.”
And then there’s the repression. The frozen lake of sadness. Benny and Björn were a grinning hit factory, a two-man Brill Building, and the group as a whole never failed to project a sheen of super-trouper professionalism. But the music of ABBA is quietly thunderous with heartbreak and failure. “Deep inside / Both of us can feel the autumn chill …” Agnetha was married to Björn, and Frida was married to Benny, and both of these marriages collapsed, sundered like calving glaciers as ABBA went global. “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” at the arena in London, is almost sensory-emotional overkill: Refracted and merging mirror images of the two couples ripple across the stage as the anthemic breakup lyrics shake our ribs. “We just have to face it / This time (this time) we’re through.” Strong men cry—or I do, anyway—at the peculiarly ringing metallic melancholy of great, late ABBA.
The whole world loves ABBA, but England especially, because of the repression (see above). So ABBA Voyage opened in England, in the special arena—Nordically tasteful in dark metal and blond wood, like the back parts of Keflavík airport—at Pudding Mill Lane, in London’s redeveloped Docklands. Seven performances a week, sold out for months to come. The crowd bubbles. The crowd is thrilled to be there. “Dancing Queen” is a celestial event; a kind of black hole of joy; a rushing, released groove unlike any other in the ABBA songbook. The ushers in the aisles turn to us and wave their arms over their heads, so we wave ours too—we in our feather boas and our sensible shirts, our gleaming youth and our dowdy middle age, our gayness and our straightness, a solid wedge of the Great British Public. ABBA people.
Cartilaginous tubes of Nothingness. That’s a line I scribbled in my notebook at some point in the evening. I must have been getting freaked out. Because it was freaky, undergoing the memory onslaught of compacted decades of ABBA experience while gazing enraptured at something that, when you got right down to it, wasn’t there. In the spaces between these near-angelic digital beings, in the spaces behind them, the unreality comes trickling in—through holes and portals and cartilaginous tubes of nothingness. Here’s what you don’t get, will never get, at an event like this: the sensation of the performers locking in, intensifying, beginning to draw their power from a grid that transcends the immediate moment. Power like a gift, pouring out of the holy matrix. That won’t happen. Even if the Björn avatar does a backflip at the end of “The Winner Takes It All,” or humps the stage like Iggy Pop.
But I’m old, aren’t I, and my skin is cold, and I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. This is what’s coming, like it (or love it) or not. And for ABBA, with their silvery excellence, their poignancy and remoteness and smilingness, and their astrally piercing harmonies, it’s perfect. It’s state-of-the-art. They can live forever like this. There’s an ABBA thing, a resurgence, an indulgence, going on right now on TikTok. Great pop never dies. And now it really never dies. Ground control to Major Tom: Stay right where you are. No need to come back to Earth. “To be or not to be,” says the enigmatic Benny avatar to the audience at ABBA Voyage, musing between songs. “That is no longer the question.”
This article appears in the November 2022 print edition with the headline “Take a Chance on Them.
https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2022/11/virtual-abba-london-concert/671531/
miércoles, 12 de octubre de 2022
martes, 11 de octubre de 2022
ABBA nominated in 2022 ARIA Awards
The Historic Island Spot Where ABBA Reunited
The Historic Island Spot Where ABBA Reunited
We’ve Been Thinking About Holograms All Wrong
We’ve Been Thinking About Holograms All Wrong
Lane Brown
We’ve Been Thinking About Holograms All Wrong
Forget reanimating dead musicians. This tech is for living performers who can’t stand their bandmates.
ABBA’s music is immortal, Swedishly engineered to flood listeners’ brains with dopamine until the sun explodes. The band itself, though, was never built to last. Its lineup included two married couples — Agnetha Fältskog and Björn Ulvaeus, and Benny Andersson and Anni-Frid Lyngstad — whose relationships ended in double divorce, triggering the group’s 1982 split. ABBA’s original career spanned just a decade; they stayed broken up for the next four, even while the Mamma Mia! movies and a relentlessly popular greatest-hits album made them more famous in this century than they’d been in the previous one.
They were once offered $1 billion to reunite, but seemingly nothing could compel them back into business with their former spouses. “Money is not a factor,” Ulvaeus once said. “We will never appear onstage again.”
But then, this past May, they did. The occasion was the opening night of ABBA Voyage, their new virtual-concert residency in London, and they were there to take a bow for a performance they had not (technically) given. Voyage stars computer-generated clones of the band designed to look and sound like their 1979 selves. The real members, now in their 70s, spent a month in motion-capture suits working out the choreography but can now relax at home — separately — while their “ABBAtars” play “Dancing Queen,” “Fernando,” and “Waterloo” seven times a week, aided by a ten-piece live orchestra.
Voyage takes place in a custom-built temporary stadium, ABBA Arena, and cost $175 million to develop, making it one of the most expensive live shows ever. It’ll need to attract north of 2 million fans just to break even, but that seems doable with 650,000 tickets already sold. Performances will likely continue through at least 2025. Once start-up costs have been recouped, profit margins could dwarf that of a typical reunion tour. And things could get even more lucrative from there with plans underway to launch a second version of the show in a yet-to-be-determined city.
Since 2012, when a somewhat glitchy Tupac played Coachella, virtual-concert technology has mostly been used to resurrect dead musicians. Fans have responded poorly to digital revenants of Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, and Ronnie James Dio, who never could’ve imagined they’d be reincarnated as CGI, much less given their approval. Each was decommissioned under a cloud of exploitation. (Fully synthetic performers like the Japanese software diva Hatsune Miku have fared a little better.) But ABBA’s members — who are alive, consenting, and profiting from their show — may have finally destigmatized the concept. Their success suggests that the single best use of the technology may be for living artists who hate performing, or their bandmates, or both.
The seeds of the idea for Voyage were planted by Simon Fuller, the former manager of the Spice Girls and creator of many international variants of American Idol. In 2016, he partnered with Pulse Evolution, the company whose founders had digitized Tupac and Michael Jackson, and set to work on an Elvis Presley hologram that never made it to the stage. “Fans are cynical about reinventions of their idols,” Fuller says. “I realized that if I wanted to bring someone back in a way that was acceptable, they had to be alive. That way, the artist would be around to talk about it and fans would be less likely to argue with their hero. And ABBA — forget Pink Floyd, forget Led Zeppelin — was the holy grail of my vision.” He pitched the band. “Initially, they were like, ‘What is this?’ ” he recalls. “But it was a bloody good idea and they understood it.” (Fuller ended up not being involved in the final version of Voyage.)
ABBA also understood that Voyage would scramble the usual compact between artist and live audience. Since Fältskog, Ulvaeus, Andersson, and Lyngstad are theoretically capable of performing but simply don’t feel like it, they needed to entice fans with something their physical presences couldn’t offer. So they digitally de-aged themselves to their ’70s heyday, which may allow attendees to feel de-aged too. “That wasn’t just to be young and good-looking. It was to validate this exercise,” says Fuller. “If it was just, ‘Oh, we’re mo-capping ourselves now,’ then a fan might say, ‘You don’t want to play to us?’ But these immortalized avatars are a fun fantasy.”
That fantasy required some heavy new tech. Even though musical holograms have been around for more than a decade, most of them still seem like they came out of the tinny rendering engine of a Nintendo 64. So ABBA hired Industrial Light & Magic to re-create their classic-period look down to every strand of hair and facial tic. The ABBAtars are the most lifelike virtual pop stars ever rendered, and it’s not a close contest.
There was also the issue of display. “We saw some hologram shows and thought, This is not good,” says Per Sundin, the CEO of Pophouse Entertainment, a co-developer and lead investor in Voyage. Most so-called holograms (including the ABBAtars) aren’t really holograms. Many are just variations on a 160-year-old illusion called Pepper’s Ghost, in which a three-dimensional figure is projected onto a transparent screen. “You have to stand right in front of it to see it, and after ten minutes it’s boring,” says Sundin. “We wanted something that would feel immersive for 90 minutes.” Thus Voyage uses three enormous 65 million-pixel LED TVs to maximize clarity and viewing angles. The ABBAtars appear in human size on the main screen and in magnified close-up on both side panels, mimicking the effect of a normal concert.
In some ways, Voyage may be better than an in-person reunion. Since no traditional venues could accommodate the show’s hardware, the band had to build their own in Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. Its maximum capacity is just 3,000, which is more intimate than anywhere the real group could ever play. “ABBA could do a tour of small theaters,” says Fuller, “but there would be millions of fans who couldn’t get tickets, and you’d be charging so much money that everyone would hate you.” (Tickets for Voyage range from around $25 to $200 for a spot in a ten-person VIP booth with a private dance floor.)
Not every artist will be able to splash out $175 million on bleeding-edge CGI and a custom stadium. But now that ABBA have done it, others may not need to. Sundin says the band and its partners could lease their tech and arenas to other superstars. There’s also the MSG Sphere, James Dolan’s futuristic 17,500-seat concert venue with even bigger LEDs than ABBA’s, set to open in Las Vegas next year (with an identical twin proposed in London). And for smaller artists, there’s a fast-growing industry of start-ups offering hologram tech that can be permanently installed in venues or sent out on the road. (One such venture is Proto, an L.A.-based company that builds phone-booth-shaped displays that musicians like Kane Brown and Walker Hayes have used to beam into concerts remotely.)
ABBA “worked out a lot of the issues, and now we’ve all got more options,” says Fuller. “Artists who want to do things the way they’ve been done since time began can continue to do so. But if others want to stray into the virtual world, Voyage is proof of concept.”
That proof of concept may have arrived just in time, as many top-grossing touring acts approach the end of their performing years. Mick Jagger has called Voyage a “technology breakthrough,” and at 79 years old, the recent heart-surgery patient is presumably aware that the Rolling Stones can’t rock in corporeal form forever. Same for Carlos Santana (75), who collapsed during a gig this summer; Paul McCartney (80), whose voice is finally waning; and Bruce Springsteen (72), who’s starting to look like Woody Allen.
They may already be planning to replace themselves with virtual doubles. “I can’t say who, but we’ve been filming artists now while they’re well enough,” says David Nussbaum, the CEO of Proto. “So when they want or have to stop playing live, they’ll have holograms that have been endorsed by them and not just their estates.”
Since Jagger and McCartney have quenched fans’ demand with regular
Sin embargo, en una gira en persona, "la verdad o por unidad son las bandas fracturadas", dice Olivier Chastan, CEO de la compañía de gestión de derechos iconoclastas, propiedad del catálogo de música y semjanza de Robbie Robertson. (Su banda, la Banda, no ha tocado juntos desde entonces The Last Waltz in 1976.) “Do you want to see Fleetwood Mac with Lindsey Buckingham? Or the Beach Boys with Brian Wilson and Mike Love? Of course. In most bands, you eventually have dissension and then nobody will talk to each other. But this can solve that problem.” For example, Oasis have been hopelessly split up since 2009, but Noel Gallagher says he’d consider performing with a Liam hologram.
The losers in all this may be young artists, whose music already accounts for a diminishing share of total listening. (In 2021 and the first half of 2022, consumption of current music declined while that of catalogue music jumped by double-digit percentages.) What happens when they have to compete against not just a bunch of old songs on Spotify but touring versions of the greatest acts of all time, virtually reassembled and restored to their peak concert-giving powers? Chastan hopes those younger artists will use the tech in more creative ways than their elders. “A band like the 1975 could do an augmented-reality show with Stranger Things–style special effects,” he says. “Or someone could just use it to sell merch: ‘Click here to buy what Harry Styles is wearing onstage right now.’ So it could be amazing. Or it could be irritating.”
https://www.vulture.com/2022/10/abba-voyage-london-holograms.html
viernes, 7 de octubre de 2022
Björn at the ABBA Arena
Björn at the ABBA Arena
October 7th, 2022
Ø video
miércoles, 5 de octubre de 2022
Frida, a surprise visit
From ABBA Voyage: "Over the past month we’ve welcomed the iconic Anni-Frid to the arena and celebrated a whole year since ABBA Voyage was announced!
martes, 4 de octubre de 2022
Abba Voyage Band
ABBAVoyage : "Today marks three years since the wonderful #ABBAVoyage live band were formed"
source abbavoyage
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