Deep in the heart of ‘London’ (quote marks used due to the ambiguous debate over whether anything East of Tower Hill can really constitute a fair representation of England’s capital), sits the worst-kept secret in modern A.I technology, as thousands of spectators descend daily on Pudding Mill Lane. Ironically, the location, vaguely resembling the sound of an address from a Victorian-era, plays home to another relic of years gone by, as disco-loving souls attend the live concert of Eurovision’s most famous ever act, 1974 winners, ABBA.
But how can this be, when much of the Scandinavian supergroup have now succumbed to the inevitable whiff of retirement itself? The answer, though hidden through a strict “no phones” policy (more on that to come!) has no doubt been leaked over the years by over-zealous TikTokers in search of their next validation hit. Holographic visuals of Bjorn, Benny, Anni-Frid and Agnetha light up the purposefully-built ‘ABBA Arena’, somewhat sidelining the similar work of their fellow-Swede Eric Prydz, whose ‘HOLO’ shows pale in comparison to the splendor of ‘ABBA Voyage’.
Yet, whilst the foyer of the indoor-stadium is filled with neon shades, and a “pre-match” playlist filled with the likes of Purple Disco Machine, the desire to pump up the costume-clad attendees is of stark contrast to the somewhat serene sight greeting each ‘Voyager’ when stepping into the three-sided main concert hall, where a ‘standing only’ dancefloor is marooned by a pyramid-style structure of seating zones, and a huge plasma screen display calming music amid a snowy woodland setting. Of course, this tranquility doesn’t last long, and no sooner have staff fervently issued their warning of ‘immediate ejection’ to anticipation-drenched spectators, the lights go down and four rising figures emerge in the distance, ready to put the technological advancements of deep-fake to the sternest of test.
Whilst the likes of Star Wars have profited from re-imagined holographic cameos of Luke Skywalker, and the now deceased Carrie Fisher as ‘Princess Leila’ during their Disney-era of recent years, an entire 100-minute concert complete with facial expressions represents an entirely different version of challenge, with each microcosm of ‘humanism’ thrust meticulously under the spotlight. For the majority, Voyage certainly delivers, with the swishing of each band member’s hair even falling into a natural lifelike rhythm with every swing of hips, or kick of their infamous flared trousers. Big screens positioned all around the arena often zoom into close-up shots of fingers on keyboards or lips on mic, at which point the computerisation of each becomes more obvious to the untrained eye in scenes which resemble ‘The Last of Us’ style graphics on a PS5 or similar next-gen console.
But it is perhaps the unique personality of each band member, which somehow managed to transcend so many decades in such effortless fashion, which hits hardest, as we witness painstaking emotion on Agnetha’s face, her eyes welling with sorrow when singing ‘Fernando’ and ‘Chiquitita’. Bjorn, in his typically Scandinavian manner, flops his bowl cut around with the same shy yet boyish introversion that had women swooning worldwide through an era defined by so many Summers of Love, and whilst Benny offers the familiarity of a rock-like solidity to the group, it is Anni-Frid who best demonstrates her powerful and assertive nature to the audience, through raw body language alone. No mean feat, when the ‘real’ version is most likely sat back on the comfort of maroon leather sofas in Stockholm.
Such is the shocking realism, that when a truly “human” accompanying band of live musicians join ABBA on stage for various parts of the show, the initial audience reaction is spent trying to conclude if these too, are CGI-mirages, such is the similarity to their Swedish counterparts. And while the average demographic of ABBA Voyage is certainly closer to a blue-rinsed perm than a Turkish skin-fade, it is the truly universal nature of the room which represents the jewel in the crown of the unique togetherness felt in this hall. From the geriatric Australian women to the right of the row lurching their thin-skinned pointy bones around to every number as if this might be the last move their bodies will ever physically make, to the middle-aged man back-left belting out every number with heart-warming exuberance alongside a girl with Down’s Syndrome, in what looked like a heart-warming Father and Daughter moment, or the lady behind singing “Money Money Money” with a bit TOO much gusto, as she leaks her own probable and related trauma onto the crowd, ABBA Voyage delivers UNITY in bucket loads. Like so many musicians and comedians who now operate the somewhat controversial “no phones”, attendees are left with nowhere else to divert their attention. The backs of heads become a refreshing sight when looking upon an entire crowd who have no ulterior agenda to capture the perfect Insta-moment in a sea of screens resembling a ‘Black Mirror’ episode.
Inter-mixing the holographic elements of ABBA’s slick A.I technological with archive footage of their previous performances, (most notably ‘Waterloo’), a particularly impressive number arrives when the quartet are transported to a futuristic planet as purple inter-galactic pulses transcend around the arena in 360 degrees, the crowd all the while knowing exactly when to stand, without the need for clear or dumbed-down promoting from the hoards of vigilant stewards. By the time the show’s ‘Dancing Queen’ finale arrives, the spectators of this crowd can lawfully feel as though they’re able to leave the Arena telling future generations that they truly DID witness ABBA perform live, such is the crippling level of detail paid to this spectacle’s production output of these freakishly realistic ABBAtars. Though, with A.I’s rapid advancements, and the thoughts of Spike Jonze’s thought-provoking 2013 movie ‘Her’ (superbly led by Joaquin Phoenix) still lurking hot in the nostrils of many, ABBA Voyage might just be both the greatest triumph – AND disaster – of deepfake technology, for humankind.
Rating: 10/10, a rapidly unmissable rite of social passage.
