martes, 3 de octubre de 2023

La Boda de Muriel

 


2 de diciembre de 2019

Fernando García

PARA LA NACION

La Boda de Muriel...

"Dancing Queen": la joya de la corona del imperio pop de Abba que se volvió un himno de la autoafirmación
Las divinas sorben daiquiris y cuchichean. Una de las chicas está fuera de foco, en el sentido de no encajar con la normativa social de mujer joven y bella. Se llama Muriel y según las divinas es gorda, deprimente y escucha música de los 70. "¡Estamos en los 90!", le grita una de ellas y Muriel, despreciada en la categoría de aspirante a novia, rompe a llorar. En la escena siguiente, Muriel pone un casette en un radiograbador rosa y la vemos musitar la letra de "Dancing Queen" de Abba como si estuviera silabeando la peor pesadilla oscura de The Cure.
Su habitación es un santuario, una abbadía plagada de fotos y pósters de los "Beatles suecos": Björn, Benny, Agnetha y Frida en el cielo con diamantes. Estamos en 1994 y en la película australiana El casamiento de Muriel, el director P.J. Hogan resignificaba el catálogo millonario que Abba produjo en los 70 con el mismo efecto que por entonces Kurt Cobain quería para la música de Nirvana: convertirlo en el sonido furioso de los inadaptados, de los que no encajan. "Dancing Queen", que vuelve primero en el largometraje en versión orquestal y luego en la conmovedora escena final de la película, adquiere allí la energía liberadora que, en esos primeros años 90, podíamos adjudicarle a "Smells like Teen Spirit". Solo que sin ruidismo ni gritos, sin musculatura de rock grunge, haciendo de ese "euro disco de cuento de hadas" un manifiesto de lo que hoy llamamos queer. Para Muriel, el personaje que catapultó a la fama a la actriz Toni Colette (Australia, 1972), el sonido cristalino y la estética camp de Abba existen para redimirla de todo el desprecio que ese mundo (una familia catatónica, surfers musculosos, las mencionadas divinas) siente por ella.
En pleno auge del rock alternativo, la emergencia del brit pop y la influencia estética del hip hop y la electrónica, "Dancing Queen" volvía en esa película de 1994 como un boomerang para recordarnos la sencillez demoledora de su mensaje ("Puedes bailar, pasarla como nunca") en clave de himno anti-bullying. Un máster de defensa personal en un estribillo. A partir de Muriel, no más consumo irónico: Abba es cosa seria.
"Dancing Queen" apareció originalmente como segundo single adelanto del álbum Arrival –el cuarto del cuarteto angelado– en agosto de 1976, pero ya había sido grabada durante los últimos meses de 1975. Un año antes, 1974, los suecos se habían quedado con el primer premio del popular concurso Eurovision con una canción llamada "Waterloo". Y ése fue el vero comienzo de lo que no podría llamarse sino Abbamanía. Con una audiencia masiva de TV, Abba se apoderó del escenario del Brighton Dome con el brillo de un outfit influido por el estilo glam: botas plateadas, trajes de raso, la guitarra con forma de estrella irregular de Björn Ulvaeus, el estilo monárquico del pianista Benny Anderson. Los acompañó una orquesta dirigida por Sven-Olof Waldoff, quien tomó la batuta vestido de Napoleón, como para que el circo fuera completo. Y las chicas, el centro de atención mundial del grupo, estrenaron una coreografía que se volvió lingua franca gestual de karaoke. Frida (Anni-Frid Lynsgtad), la morocha, y Agnetha Faltskog, la rubia, cantan apuntándose a los ojos y, luego, en sincro, atacan la cámara. Infalible.
Con "Waterloo", Abba desplazó a las favoritas del concurso musical, Olivia Newton John (Inglaterra) y Cigliola Cinquetti (Italia), al cuarto y segundo lugar, respectivamente, y desplegó un dominio que solo puede ser definido como napoleónico sobre el pop. Los llevó a ser el grupo más taquillero de los 70 (sus ingresos superaban a los de la automotriz Volvo) y sumar al día de hoy unos 400 millones de discos vendidos en todo el mundo. En la era del streaming, Abba suma 10.624.937 oyentes mensuales en Spotify. Su canción más escuchada es "Dancing Queen", a la cabeza de un top 5 soñado: "Gimme Gimme", "The Winner Takes it All", "Mamma Mia", "Super Trouper".
Es curioso que "Dancing Queen" haya aparecido unos meses antes de que los Sex Pistols practicaran la sedición artística en Londres, vapuleando a la monarquía con su virulento "God Save the Queen". Mientras el grupo que mejor expresó al punk como estética cantaba esa canción desde un barco alquilado durante el jubileo de Isabel II, los Abba estrenaron su hitazo en una gala por la boda real de Carlos XVI Gustavo de Suecia y Silvia Sommerlath, la reina danzante original y madre de Victoria, actual heredera de la corona sueca. Extremos –de lo anárquico a lo cortesano– del uso político de una canción, Sex Pistols y Abba compartieron una época en la que música pop marcaba la agenda de una manera que hoy solo lo hace la tecnología.
Abba grabó en castellano sus éxitos tras el suceso de "Chiquitita"; el disco, Gracias por la música, que incluía "La reina del baile", vendió medio millón de copias en la Argentina en 1980AP
El single de la canción más escuchada (y acaso la mejor) de Abba se editó con "That’s Me", otra canción de Arrival, como lado B. El sobre del disco mostraba al cuarteto (dos parejas ensambladas, como Fleetwood Mac) vestido enteramente con sombreros blancos. En esa cubierta también estrenaron el inoxidable logo diseñado por Rude Soderqvist. Pero lo fundamental sucedía (sucede) una vez que se le daba play al objeto. Luego de un glissando de piano memorable, las voces de Frida y Agnetha tomaban el centro de esta fantasía hedonista donde parecen empoderar al oyente: "Eres la reina del baile, dulce y joven, de solo diecisiete, reina del baile".
Sencillas, casi pueriles, las palabras se vuelven monumentales por el efecto de la canción, que es enunciada directamente desde el estribillo y mantiene su estructura de ostinato (se obstina en no ceder intensidad) a caballo de una base disco y la producción preciosista de Anderson y Ulvaeus. Una adaptación nórdica de la pared de sonido de Phil Spector y los experimentos de Giorgio Moroder con Donna Summer, "Dancing Queen" y "Gimme Gimme" (cuya intro Madonna usaría como ready made en "Hung Up") definen una forma europea de música disco, en la que al dancefloor se le suma una delgada capa de hielo. Las armonías vocales, los arreglos de cuerdas y las intervenciones quirúrgicas del piano hacen que Abba se deslice por la pista en patines con cuchillas.
En "Dancing Queen" hay algo atávico del folclore europeo. Esa idea de una voz que dota de poderes al que escucha parece la versión pop de los ancestrales cuentos de hadas, efecto que se termina de completar con la imagen de las chicas ABBA, oscilando entre la atracción sexual (el cine alimentaba el imaginario de una Escandinavia caliente) y el mito occidental de los ángeles (ellas mismas cantaban "I Believe in Angels"). Abba podía resultar cursi y kitsch pero al mismo tiempo también sublime, inalcanzable. Erasure le dio forma de tecno pop a ese sentimiento paradojal con Abbaesque (traducible como "abbaesco"), el EP que editaron en 1992 con cinco covers que reinvindicaban a los suecos desde una perspectiva gay.
"Dancing Queen" llegó al número uno en el Reino Unido, Australia, Estados Unidos, Japón, México, Canadá, Holanda, Alemania, Bélgica, Irlanda, Suecia y Sudáfrica. En la Argentina no hay datos del simple, pero se sabe que el álbum Gracias por la música vendió 500.000 discos en 1980. Se trató de una versión de los hits de Abba en español producida por la RCA de Buenos Aires, a partir del éxito enorme que había tenido en 1979 la versión en castellano de "Chiquitita". En el álbum, Frida y Agnetha cantaban a partir de las traducciones y adaptaciones de Buddy y Mary McCluskey, ejecutivos de la discográfica, con apoyo de la periodista Ana Martínez del Valle. En Gracias por la música, "Dancing Queen" se llamó "La reina del baile" (un título casi de Cacho Castaña) y no estuvo entre los cinco simples que se hicieron del disco. Las chicas cantan con un acento torcido, y la versión pierde encanto fuera del inglés original. Pero quizás haya sido suficiente para que, en secreto, alguna Muriel argentina brillara por dentro como eso, una "Dancing Queen".


viernes, 29 de septiembre de 2023

Björn ! sep 2023

 





ABBA Voyage Takes Us to the Future of Live Entertainment

 



ABBA Voyage Takes Us to the Future of Live Entertainment


Heather Gallagher

Pioneering Entertainment Executive. Immersive Experiences, Events & Tech. 17-Year Burning Man Head of Tech. Executive & Creative Producer. Strategist. Considering New Projects & Positions.

Fecha de publicación: 30 de jul de 2023

It’s a steamy Monday night in London. I’m on an Overground Train heading outside of Zone 1 to Stratford and then onto Pudding Mill Lane. I’m wearing a one-shouldered purple metallic party dress and my tall black combat boots. This is relatively normal attire for me, but not the usual commuter wear for most Londoners heading home after a day's work, nor the kind of outfit one might expect to see in a place called Pudding Mill Lane. 


A woman wearing a sequin dress gets on the train a few stops down the line, and then another after a few more stops. Soon I see a group of women wearing tinsel wigs. OK London, that’s the spirit. Make me proud of your participation and willingness to party on a Monday night. I’m not sure what is going to happen tonight, but I know every show is better when the audience adds to the experience instead of just being a consumer of it.


We were heading towards ABBA Voyage. A much-lauded immersive concert experience that made a splash on the world stage when it opened in May of 2022. I was so busy working that I barely recalled hearing rumors of some sort of hologram concert. Having worked in augmented reality and generally being a creative technology and spectacle geek, I knew I had to investigate once it came across my radar again on a recent trip to London. 


The ticket said 7:30 and that doors opened an hour and 45 minutes ahead of time. It was unclear if the 7:30 was doors or the show. Turned out the show was 7:30 and I had to hustle if I didn’t want to miss anything. So I hustled, as did thousands of excited and sometimes sequin-clad guests streaming toward the custom-built ABBA Arena. The arena was built by London’s Stufish Entertainment Architects at the cost of $175M, making ABBA Voyage one of the most expensive live-performance shows ever. The whole arena breaks down into a kind of flat pack for future touring, but tonight it was in full force with the band’s logo illuminated across the top of the entrance.



I had just enough time to quickly consume two sparkling rosés in the vast lobby built by Stage One. Designed to be configurable to adapt to new layouts in future locations, it has LED tube geometric patterns and a shifting rainbow of light effects across the ceiling. From this concourse, I headed to the main performance hall through a series of tunnels lined with more LED tubes until I eventually emerged onto the dance floor. 



Two massive sheer curtains hung at the front of the stage and I presumed those would become the primary device for some sort of holographic projection show. I couldn’t have been more wrong.


What unfolded over the evening was astonishing, beautiful, moving, and grooving, and felt like a trip into the future. Guests are not allowed to take photos inside the theatre once the show starts and to be honest, I was glad to witness ABBA Voyage without the distraction of a screen or trying to capture something that was almost impossible to believe I was seeing, hearing, and experiencing.


What came to life was a phenomenal 90-minute concert, featuring the members of the band ABBA, Agnetha Fältskog, Björn Ulvaeus, Benny Andersson, and Anni-Frid Lyngstad, looking as if they had stepped right out of a photo of their younger selves from the 70s, singing in their renowned voices, dancing and interacting in realistic performances showcased with the best-of-class concert production. I met someone later who told me they had seen the show three times already and it was one of their top five concert experiences of all time. I can see why. I think it’s in my top ten for sure. I’m pretty certain many of the 3,000 attendees who were dancing, screaming, and singing along to every word would also agree. We were all ‘in it’, and feeling it together.



We were also literally ‘in it’ as the arena has an array of curved digital display screens which wrap the audience inside the light show and effects. At moments strings of LED lights would come down from the ceiling and extend the effects from the stage right into the crowd. The band was indeed shown at times on those screens I saw at first, much like you would see at any rock concert before the curtains go up, but also via additional hidden screens behind, so the band appeared to be on the stage at a human scale with convincing lighting effects and performances. 


You may be wondering, how does this qualify as a live performance? Well, there was a live ten-piece band and backup singers. The digital “ABBAtars” appeared to convincingly interact with the live band. Sometimes the ABBAtars represented vintage ABBA from 1979, and midway through in a moment of self-referential humor, they changed costumes to look like they were in a TRON-inspired future. It took some proper technological and stage-directing genius to blend the real and digital world performances and effects across dimensions of technology, time, and space. The show was so believable that I often stopped trying to figure out what was going on and just enjoyed the spectacle. 


Since then, I’ve researched more about the making of the show. For starters, the ABBAtars are not holograms. They are 3D avatars generated from motion capture performances. The band members, who are now in their 70s, spent five weeks solid performing while wrapped in wacky motion capture suits and surrounded by hundreds of cameras and sensors to capture their authentic expression while performing their legendary music.



Animation teams at Industrial Light and Magic took the performance data and crafted avatars based on the band at their ‘prime’ back in the 70s. From my spot near the back center of the dance floor, the animation was pristine and realistic. If this is the kind of party we will have in the “uncanny valley”, I will be at that party. Or, maybe I’ll just send my avatar to it?


Skip the following two paragraphs if you don’t want my insights to potentially skew your own experience of the show. 


The few pieces of tiny feedback I would give to the animators are details that would likely never be noticed by most of the viewing audience. One is that the ABBAtar hair is a little too perfect. Each could use a few more flyaway wisps and strands in places to break up some areas that are too clean and smooth. Their hair should also get a little bit messier and tussled as the show goes on. The end of Agnetha’s ponytail in the futuristic scenes needed more angles versus a flat bottom. In hindsight I realized they might have been aiming for a futuristic updo with some sort of blunt cut, but it’s distracting and unrealistic. I am literally picking hairs on the animation because it was that good.



Every once in a while I wanted the band to shimmy and groove more at the hips. If you watch their original videos and live concerts, and any live performers, they can’t help but enthusiastically dance and sway to their own songs. Though, given they captured the actual performances of the group today, that might be as much groove as they can muster in their 70s. 


ABBA Voyage is more than a comeback concert. It opens the door to a profound contemplation about the future of entertainment. Older acts from history may be long gone. For groups who are still alive, or who were popular in the past 50 years for whom there are libraries of photos, videos, and concert footage, will we be able to relive moments with them forever? Even after they are physically gone?


Do our favorite music acts need to go on grueling tours around the world, or can they ‘phone it in’ in the future? Will every act at the height of their career now capture a digitized performance of themselves to save for future release and to leave a legacy of perpetual youth? Will we care if it’s really the band performing live, or will it be enough to have a placebo concert experience knowing their DNA runs through the show? Will animation houses become the new musical overlords, with the power to recreate performances in 2D and 3D at their fingertips?


Admittedly I was already an ABBA fan, familiar with at least their most famous hits. I’ve been rewatching old videos and hearing their songs in my head ever since the show. It doesn’t matter if you are a big ABBA fan or not. ABBA Voyage is a vanguard moment in the history of live musical performances, and the execution of this concept and the concert is something that everyone should see. 


When I can, I’ll see the show again. In London, or rumor has it that the show is going on tour. I’ll be there…. Even if the band is not.


https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/abba-voyage-takes-us-future-live-entertainment-heather-gallagher


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