ABBA: Live At Wembley

ABBA: LIVE AT WEMBLEY (1979; 2014)

1) Gammal Fäbodpsalm; 2) Voulez-Vous; 3) If It Wasn't For The Nights; 4) As Good As New; 5) Knowing Me, Knowing You; 6) Rock Me; 7) Chiquitita; 8) Money, Money, Money; 9) I Have A Dream; 10) Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight); 11) SOS; 12) Fernando; 13) The Name Of The Game; 14) Eagle; 15) Thank You For The Music; 16) Why Did It Have To Be Me; 17) Intermezzo No. 1; 18) I'm Still Alive; 19) Summer Night City; 20) Take A Chance On Me; 21) Does Your Mother Know; 22) Hole In Your Soul; 23) The Way Old Friends Do; 24) Dancing Queen; 25) Waterloo.

Oh wouldn't you know it — almost thirty years later, the dudes return to bring an originally half-assed job to perfection. The reason why, even after ABBA's popularity had resurged and their classic hits proved to stand the test of time, they waited so long to put out a proper live album from the vaults, is that the band members themselves never saw ABBA as a truly great live band, and had largely shyed away from extensive touring even at their peak (it is no coincidence that the majority of «live» performances of ABBA from various TV shows that you can catch on YouTube these days are actually lip-synched). Yet the botched legacy of ABBA Live, sewn to­gether from various sources and cursed with poor mixing and electronic drum overdubs, must have finally pushed Benny and Björn into unearthing the old tapes, and ultimately, as part of the band's 40th anniversary celebrations, they settled upon the November 10, 1979 show from the Wembley Arena to be released in its entirety, «as was», with nothing but a proper remastering procedure to separate us from the alleged truth.

Since it was the Wembley shows that also constituted the bulk of ABBA Live, a significant chunk of the tracks overlaps between the two releases (and I am talking exact same performances, not just the same songs) — but even the most basic comparison shows the new release to be far superior, with a much cleaner, juicier mix and no silly electronic doctoring. In fact, it pretty much renders ABBA Live expendable, with the exception of the tracks from 1980 recorded at the Dick Cavett show performance (and still historically important as ABBA's last live show). It is also a major improvement on the equally eviscerated ABBA In Concert video, also culled from the Wembley shows and largely giving us snippets of the concert (less than half of the songs that were actually performed, and some in abbreviated versions and interspersed with the usual crap­ola like backstage chatter and fan ravings). Basically, it is the first and, so far, only official docu­ment of a complete, authentic, uninterrupted ABBA show from their peak period.

Okay, well, maybe not exactly «peak», because we were still living in the disco era back then, and the band was busy promoting Voulez Vous, which, let's admit it, was their weakest offering in the entire 1975-82 period of pop glory — precisely because of too much disco influence. So the setlist, as we now learn, is quite heavy on tracks from that album (6 out of 10 songs), and I am still not sure if these, clearly less polished and mechanical, versions of songs like the title track and ʽAs Good As Newʼ actually improve on the studio originals (by adding an element of natu­ral roughness) or detract from them (because these were songs whose intended impact depended on a complete avoidance of all roughness and on total mechanical precision). In any case, this is a minor encumberance, but it also reflects on the rest of the performances: classic songs from the pre-disco years now have a shade of the «been through that, time to move on» spirit — a feeling impos­sible to justify properly, but one that still makes me yearn for a proper live release from, say, the Australian tour of 1977 (which, judging by what we know from ABBA: The Movie, was the true peak of ABBA as a live band).

Nevertheless, on the whole, it's a lot of fun. Yes, many studio nuances inevitably get lost in the live setting, but the crystal clear mix reveals a beautiful balance of technical precision and human feeling in the singing — if anything, the girls in the band were working it much harder on the stage than the guys (Björn was never a great guitarist, and most of the complicated guitar parts are played by Lasse Wellander; Benny gets his big break with ʽIntermezzo No. 1ʼ, but otherwise is mainly just busy tracing out the basic melodic contour of the songs), never missing a note and taking good care of all the parts that require special effort (such as Agnetha's ear-piercing high B on ʽHole In Your Soulʼ). Special mention should be made of: (a) ʽMoney Money Moneyʼ, with Frida and Benny running rings around each other until an «angry» Frida retorts with "It's my song!" and sets things straight; (b) ʽWhy Did It Have To Be Meʼ, which gets a ʽKansas Cityʼ type of introduction to prove they're playing rock'n'roll which they are not, but it's still hilarious; (c) ʽI Have A Dreamʼ, performed with the assistance of a local children's choir — cute to the point of almost puking, but I still cannot blame them for rewarding the choir with an encore, since every kid deserves his/her taste of encouragement for a job well done; (d) ʽThe Way Old Friends Doʼ, receiving here a nice friendly preview with Benny's accordeon; (e) Lasse Wellander's Rock God Guitar Solo on ʽEagleʼ, although that one has already been discussed in the context of ABBA Live (I think it's the exact same performance — and the guy had quite a difficult job to perform, considering he had to do it with Frida and Agnetha wrapping themselves around his legs, accor­ding to mainstream conventions of «sexy» at the time).

Overall, the only thing that spoils the experience a bit is the stage banter — there's nothing really bad I can say about the performances, it is only the little things in between that show how unac­customed the band really was to arena-size performing (an example from Frida: "I only want to ask you one question... WHAT DO YOU THINK OF OUR BAND?" — uh, Frida, nobody really came there for your band, did they?). I also suppose that Björn's official introduction of Agnetha as «the blond one» would not be looked upon with benevolence by the feminist-oriented mindset of today, but, honestly, I suppose he just did that because introducing her as «Agnetha» would be too boring, and he just couldn't think of anything more inventive — thank God at least he did not refer to her as «the blond one with the big bum» or something like that.

Bottomline: you can safely throw away your ABBA Live now and replace it with this, far more comprehensive, document — although, while I certainly do not think that ABBA deserve to have a large archival live catalog, I still think that they owe us one more live release from the 1976-77 vaults to complete the picture. Ten years from now? 50th anniversary? We'll be waiting; in the interim, thumbs up for this Wembley experience, anyway.

Benny Anderson & Björn Ulvaeus: Chess

BENNY ANDERSON/BJÖRN ULVAEUS: CHESS (1984)

1) Merano; 2) The Russian And Molokov/Where I Want To Be; 3) The Opening Ceremony; 4) Quartet (A Model Of Decorum And Tranquility); 5) The American And Florence/Nobody's Side; 6) Chess; 7) Mountain Duet; 8) Florence Quits; 9) Embassy Lament/Anthem; 10) Bangkok/One Night In Bangkok; 11) Heaven Help My Heart; 12) Argument / I Know Him So Well; 13) The Deal (No Deal)/Pity The Child; 14) Endgame; 15) Epilogue: You And I/The Story Of Chess.

In all honesty, I am quite fidgety about the musical as a form of art, and would make a fairly predictable and wretched musical reviewer («thumbs down» being the default and rarely over­turned decision). However, I am also all for overcoming the natural illness of «genrism», since a «musical», after all, need not necessarily be strapped down by conventions, such as having to be a heavily diluted, cheapened, saccharinized, and flashified cousin of classical opera. A musical can be anything you want it to be, and Chess is an excellent example of stretching the concept out to include just about anything.

First, the concept, libretto, and structure of the musical are quite daring for their time: too daring, in fact, to please the critics, who'd never waste the occasion to rip the boys an extra hole for the befuddling plotline, soap opera flavor, and shallow characterization — all of it justified, but mainly because lyricist Tim Rice (of Andrew Lloyd Webber fame!) took on the task of creating a story that would cover all the important bases, from political to personal. Formally, the musical is about Russian/American tensions in the Cold War as seen through the prism of chess competition (inspired by the Fischer/Spassky match of 1972), but it is just as much, or maybe even more, about personal issues — vanity, greed, obsession, jealousy, depression, loyalty, whatever. This does not leave too much time to explore every possible (or necessary) nook, but what it does is provide the composers, Benny and Björn, with a variety of twists that perfectly suit their own variegated tastes in music, and turn Chess into an almost bizarre musical mish-mash, whose in­fluences vary from baroque composers to the most modern strains of electropop.

I could not describe Chess as a collection of great individual songs or musical pieces (the review applies to the «Original Cast» recording from 1984, produced well before the actual show in order to help raise money for the staging, but I imagine the same judgement would probably apply to the later recordings as well, including the heavily revised Broadway version of 1988). Its biggest song in the UK was the compassionate duet ʽI Know Him So Wellʼ, sung with feeling by Elaine Page and Barbara Dickson, but, as a ballad, not even coming close to the perfectly engi­neered (in heart-tugging terms) hooks of classic ABBA ballads. In the US, the largest impact was made by ʽOne Night In Bangkokʼ, which could probably be best described as a cross between the electrofunk of Prince and the embarrassing electronic-prog of mid-Eighties Jethro Tull (or maybe it's just the addition of the flute that triggers this association): too serious for mindless dancing, too rhythm-driven for serious emotions.

But, as it sometimes happens (and should, in fact, happen) with concept albums, the sum of the parts of Chess is greater than its whole — or, to use a more appropriate analogy, it is no big deal to sacrifice a few pawns or even a couple of rooks to assure a guaranteed checkmate. Much more important is the feeling of dynamics, as the music switches between intimate, chamber-style pieces to ballroom grandeur to post-disco coolness in a smooth, nicely integrated manner (usually because subtle «modern» elements are always included in the more classical passages, and vice versa), with little risk of ever boring the listener.

As is usual with Benny and Björn, they thrive on soaking up classical influences and converting them into «easy-listening» mode, yet somehow still retaining a sense of taste by not limiting themselves to hollow pathos. The title track, a «grandiose» instrumental that reiterates several of the musical's themes, underture-style, begins like a lite requiem, goes on to become a grand quasi-Tchaikovsky ballroom piece, then tries to go for an almost Wagnerian crescendo — and ultimately succeeds as a whole, even if I have no idea why.

I couldn't even say that the singers of the original Chess have a serious hand in its success. The main male leads are Murray Head (ʽThe Americanʼ), whom I have never managed to see as a great vocalist (he was not a great Judas Iscariot, unlike Carl Anderson) and Tommy Körberg (ʽThe Russianʼ), who is not much known outside of this role and who comes across as a compe­tent, but not particularly unique musical singer. The title lead of Florence is given to Elaine Page, who sang ʽMemoryʼ in Cats — she actually gets into this complex character (well, you'd have to be pretty complex to be dating both the American and the Russian champion) very convincingly, but she doesn't get too many memorable parts.

So I guess that any cast will do, really, as long as the complexity and fullness of the score are retained — the real heroes of Chess are its librettist and its composers. Frankly, the record is puzzling and intriguing rather than an indisputable work of genius, but when we're talking musi­cals, puzzle and intrigue work better for me than genius, because anything to shake up and crack the formula is always welcome. As far as I'm concerned, Benny and Björn's first attempt at a mini-musical (ʽThe Girl With The Golden Hairʼ, a four-song cycle off ABBA's The Album) will always be their best (some of its musical moves, funny enough, seem to still echo throughout the themes of Chess as well), but Chess is where they'd really allowed themselves to run wild with the form, and it's fun to see them run.

I would have, of course, liked to see the whole thing in a more «pop» light — as long as Benny and Björn are indulging their chamber / symphonic appetites, no problem, but the sometimes way too overlong romantic duets (ʽYou And Iʼ, etc.) still tend to devolve into schmaltz, which is where I really miss the silly gut punch of ʽLay All Your Love On Meʼ. Still, all the flaws aside, this really is one musical that fully deserves a thumbs up — at the very least, it totally trumps Phantom Of The Opera, meaning that Tim Rice made the right decision, parting ways with the Londoner to team up with the Swedes.

Unfortunately, it was simply too dense for the audiences, used to associate the idea of the musical with a simple, easily summarized story rather than this Dostoyevsky-proportions psychological maze. So these days, as far as musicals are concerned, you are more likely to know all about Mamma Mia, the most putrid thing ever that could have happened to ABBA's legacy, and so, naturally, far more popular than Chess could ever hope to be. Of course, Mamma Mia has the seductive grace of con­sisting of original ABBA songs — but that's really cheating, you know.

Anni-Frid Lyngstad (Frida): Shine

FRIDA: SHINE (1984)

1) Shine; 2) One Little Lie; 3) The Face; 4) Twist In The Dark; 5) Slowly; 6) Heart Of The Country; 7) Come To Me (I Am A Woman); 8) Chemistry Tonight; 9) Don't Do It; 10) Comfort Me; 11*) That's Tough.

If you manage to disregard the cheeky album cover (okay, so the world was living in the era of ʽPhy­sicalʼ back then), Shine is actually a very strong, engaging, even «experimental» pop album. Why it bombed on the charts, turning Frida off recording for more than a decade and off English-language recording almost forever, is unclear. One guess is that the world was shaking off the «ABBA cobwebs», setting the band aside as obsolete fluff until the 1990s revival — thus, even though only one song on Shine really sounds like classic ABBA, Frida got the boot simply for being Frida. Another guess is the opposite one: Shine is so different from ABBA that Frida's veteran supporters, constituting the bulk of the buyers, were turned off by the sound.

And no wonder: this time around, the producer is Steve Lillywhite, who was, back then, one of the hottest things in town, masterminding cutting-edge albums by Peter Gabriel, U2, and whoever else wanted to make use of the latest developments in studio technology in order to record some­thing dark, freaky, unsettling, or futuristic. The assembled musicians also represented «the new breed» and had already made big names for themselves: Tony Levin of King Crimson fame is on bass, Mark Brzezicki of Big Country fame is on drums, and singer-songwriter Kirsty McCall supplies much of the material, often co-written with Simon Climie, the man who'd later become known for the «Climie Fisher» duo (and then for the next stage of ruining Eric Clapton's solo career with atrocious albums like Pilgrim, trying to modernize the unmodernisable — but that would be a long, long time away: here, the guy just plays synthesizers).

The result is a bona fide synth-pop album (with very limited guitar presence) that takes the already dark overtones of its predecessor and compacts them into something even more emotio­nally disturbing. The title track's release as a single must have confused audiences, because it is not at all clear what it is — a simple love ballad, or a tale of an unhealthy psychoaddiction? The "you give me love, you make me shine" chorus, with its high uplifting harmonies seems to sug­gest the former, but the unexpectedly dissonant bass chords, the ghostly harmonies, the aggres­sive drum patterns, the sickly "you give me love, you give me love, you give me love..." repe­titions, it all suggests probing certain subconscious depths that are way below «fluffy lightweight romance» levels. This fluctuation between the light and the dark throws you off balance and prevents easy pigeonholing — hence, perhaps, the hesitation to buy up extra copies.

The one small «giveaway» to ABBA fans was certainly not enough to compensate. ʽSlowlyʼ, which Frida actually accepted from Benny and Björn (so, for all purposes, one might count it as a legitimate ABBA song), is awash in typically ABBA vocal hooks, tailored to Frida's abilities: a «multi-movement» ballad going through several layers of the emotional spectrum (the way she brings it all around with her velvety delivery of the title is gorgeous), and, for that matter, showing that the ABBA pool was anything but spent in the early 1980s. Still, just one song, and it comes on after the album's «creepiest» number: ʽTwist In The Darkʼ, contributed by songwriter Andy Leek, is like a slightly more accessible Melt-era Peter Gabriel track — big booming drums, ghostly keyboards and backing harmonies, and a menacing hookline. Now it's never really as threateningly Freudist as the description makes it out, but it's still fairly serious: if you liked the «darker» elements of The Visitors, this is a logical development.

Less stunning, but still catchy highlights include ʽOne Little Lieʼ, a lively synth-rocker with a rather gratuitous, but harmless, Beethoven lick in the intro, and ʽHeart Of The Countryʼ, contributed by Big Country's own Stuart Adamson. Individual disappointments would be limited to ʽDon't Do Itʼ, a rather shapeless ballad with nowhere-going echoey guitar used purely for at­mosphere — written by Frida herself, and maybe she shouldn't; and ʽCome To Me (I Am A Woman)ʼ, another ballad, this time, an even gentler and adult-contemporarier one, but it wouldn't be as embarrassing, I guess, if only Frida did not sing the chorus as "come to me, I am woman" (without the article!), which, if your English is on an okay level, gives the oddly dumb impression of "me Tarzan, you Jane" and dumbs down any hopes at romance.

Still, in terms of our general expectations, Shine is a relative masterpiece — nobody would demand a genuine Peter Gabriel-level record from an ABBA singer, no matter who the producer is, if the songwriting remains in the hands of a bunch of pop-oriented outsiders, but they come as close to this result as physically possible, and with a rather natural grace. Many people have floundered in the transition from «typically 1970s» to «typically 1980s» music: Frida clearly understood how not to flounder, and thus, it is actually a little distressing that she had all but severed her relations with the music industry from then on — unlike Agnetha, who eventually succumbed to DianeWarren-itis, Frida seems like the type who could have preserved a modicum of good taste throughout the decade (yes, sometimes my inner optimist does manage to beat up my inner pessimist).

But then, it does not make much sense to talk in «ifs»: the truth is that Shine was Frida's last internationally-oriented album, and she only made brief occasional returns to the public eye since then. One more Swedish-language album followed in 1996, and that was it. Should we lament the missed opportunities or appraise the humbleness and modesty? I guess we'd need to at least be close friends or something to answer that question. In the meantime, Shine gets an expected thumbs up rating — if you like tasteful synth-pop, and can stand the idea of it being slightly blemished by superficial sentimentalism, this record is made for you. Additionally, it is the last ever album to feature a song written by Benny and Björn and sung by one of the ABBA girls — most likely, this should wrench a commitment out of some people at least. 

Anni-Frid Lyngstad (Frida): Something's Going On

FRIDA: SOMETHING'S GOING ON (1982)

1) Tell Me It's Over; 2) I See Red; 3) I Got Something; 4) Strangers; 5) To Turn The Stone; 6) I Know There's Something Going On; 7) Threnody; 8) Baby Don't You Cry No More; 9) The Way You Do; 10) You Know What I Mean; 11) Here We'll Stay.

Because of all the casual stereotypes, Agnetha was always cast as the «dumb blonde» part of the female ABBA component where Frida was, if not exactly the «dark-haired intellectual», still sort of regarded as the brainier element of the two. To be fair, Agnetha did get most of the solo parts on ABBA's lyrically shallowest love ballads, while Frida, with her deeper voice, accordingly got the parts that tried to probe a little further, but still, that ain't really sufficient ground for proper discrimination — at best, it shows that Benny and Björn were in on the «dumb blonde» game as well, because even songwriting genius does not save one from stereotype attack.

Much more diagnostic would be the kind of situation where both dames were finally completely independent and had the freedom of asserting their own identities — Something's Going On came out approximately at the same time as Wrap Your Arms Around Me, and although both albums consisted almost entirely of covers (Agnetha, unlike Frida, did write a couple of her own, but there'd hardly be any difference if she didn't), the difference in tone was striking. Agnetha's performances were predominantly songs of passionate love and romance — Frida's were darker (like the hair!), concentrating much more on paranoia, breakup, loss, and only occasional conso­lation — romance as antidote against grief. Roughing it up, we have here the classic opposition between comedy and tragedy, where you can take your own pick.

It wasn't all Frida's own invention though. For her first post-ABBA solo album (like Agnetha, she had a few Swedish-only solo albums before and during ABBA), she teamed up with Phil Collins, being tremendously inspired and impressed with the freshly published Face Value — a record that was all about paranoia, breakup, and loss, and, incidentally, was also the first (and best) Phil Collins solo album, so somehow the two turned out to be sympathetic souls, and Phil not only produced Frida's record for her, but also contributed one of the songs and even sang with Frida on the closing duet. Touching!

Naturally, Phil's production style is not for everybody. We have here the same «gigantic» drum sound as on Face Value, much, though not all, of it programmed; and all the electronic keyboards / pop metal guitars / echoey effects on the vocals that were so trendy at the time — the ironic thing is, no matter how hard Frida tries to distance herself from her ABBA past here, in the end it all still sounds ABBA-esque, not just because of the familiar voice, but also because the assem­bled songs must have been subconsciously filtered. None of them were written by Benny or Björn, but just try to imagine how it all might have sounded without Phil in the producer's seat, and you will have yourself a smooth and natural transition from The Visitors to here. (Whereas with Wrap Your Arms Around Me, the transition would probably be from 1975's ABBA — ʽThe Heat Is Onʼ is kinda sorta the natural successor to ʽTropical Lovelandʼ, isn't it?.. on the other hand, it was Frida who sang ʽTropical Lovelandʼ... oh, never mind).

The big single was ʽI Know There's Something Going Onʼ (with you and her, not with the world today), written by Russ Ballard, who, as it turns out, was happy to serve both the red and the white queen at the same time (ʽCan't Shake Looseʼ, written for Agnetha, did not manage to have quite the same chart success, though). Behind its production gloss there is a genuinely ominous vibe, greatly added by Daryl Stuermer's acid guitar solo, although the song is still too repetitive and dependent on the endlessly looped chorus hook to be considered an atmospheric masterpiece — so, in an unpredictable contrasting move, I'd like to declare it melodically inferior to the non-hit, non-single ʽBaby Don't You Cry No Moreʼ, a nostalgic jazz-pop ditty contributed by Bal­lard's former colleague, Rod Argent in person. It may seem shallow in comparison, but it's got a luvverly piano melody, a cool vocal resolution, and it reminds you of Paul McCartney's ʽBaby's Requestʼ with extra vocal flourishes, so who's to complain?

Other highlights include: ʽI See Redʼ, a disturbingly introspective song written by Jim Rafferty — one year later, it would turn into a minor pop hit for the chart-hungry Clannad, whose version was a bit more creepy compared to this reggae-influenced recording, but Frida, too, is able to sense the paranoid potential of the song, and even the echo effect on the vocals, normally a bad thing for such an expressive singer, is in its perfect place, conveying insecurity and uncertainty; the opening pop-rocker ʽTell Me It's Overʼ, written by Stephen Bishop and as rousing as any average ABBA pop-rocker; and Per Gessle's melodisation of Dorothy Parker's ʽThrenodyʼ, very sweetly and lightly arranged — a tight beat supporting a largely acoustic melody, with mandolins and chimes and just a short sweet touch of the synth around the edges.

In fact, the only serious disappointment is that last duet with Phil — ʽHere We'll Stayʼ is, of all things, a Xanadu-tinged romantic disco number, with Frida being cast in the Olivia Newton-John part and the happy duo even making a run for the falsetto register during the climactic bits: at the very least, this is a fairly tacky ending that they came up with, in poor taste overall, not to men­tion seriously at odds with the general tone of the album. They did release it as a single, which is understandable (Frida and Phil, together for the first time!), but it didn't chart, so the effort was wasted and the reputation sullied (of course, now that many people are reevaluating that entire stylistics from a completely different angle, the whole thing may even seem stylish!). So you just might want to hit that stop button one track ahead of its time — or suffer the insufferable.

On the whole, though, this is a decent, sufficiently moody pop album, not pretending to any huge depth, but not too dumbed down, either. I cannot say for sure that Phil's production did Frida a lot of good — but what she obviously wanted was to make a «non-ABBA» album, so this decision can be respected. What really matters is that Anni-Frid's vocals are at the heart of each song —  and, really, what else should one expect from an Anni-Frid solo album? Thumbs up.

Agnetha Fältskog: A

AGNETHA FÄLTSKOG: A (2013)

1) The One Who Loves You Now; 2) When You Really Loved Someone; 3) Perfume In The Breeze; 4) I Was A Flower; 5) I Should've Followed You Home; 6) Past Forever; 7) Dance Your Pain Away; 8) Bubble; 9) Back On Your Radio; 10) I Keep Them On The Floor Beside My Bed.

Although this record was heavily advertised as «Agnetha's first collection of original material in a quarter of a century!», I would urge even diehard ABBA fans not to get too excited, and take this information with a bag of salt. Sure, it is somewhat nice to see the lady still going strong (on the surface at least) — she looks healthy on the album cover (Photoshop?), she sounds pretty on the songs (Autotune?), and she is engaged in various promotional activities — live shows, inter­views, documentaries — that prove she still got energy (stimulants?).

But there is a serious downside: the songs. These songs are not ABBA (not being penned by Benny or Björn), not typical early Agnetha solo (not being selected «by tender» from a bunch of respectable songwriters competing with each other), and they are not Colouring Book-style grateful nostalgia. Instead, the album has been written in its entirety, as well as produced, by Jörgen Eloffson, the guy best known for writing the first hit single for Kelly Clarkson, and prior to that, the co-author of quite a few songs on Britney Spears' first album; as far as I can under­stand, he has a tight association with American Idol, Pop Idol, and all those people.

Friend or no friend, I have no idea why Agnetha consented to let this guy flood her with his compositions. The album's chief influences are bubblegum pop, boy bands, and diva balladry, with the songs more or less evenly distributed between these three categories — there is also a «retro» category, though, represented this time by ʽDance Your Pain Awayʼ, a credible stylization in classic disco that could even be enjoyable if not for the synthesizers, which have infiltrated the song from the modern technopop era. ʽBack On The Radioʼ is somewhat retro as well, I guess, and inevitably brings to mind ʽThat's Why God Made The Radioʼ — the Beach Boys' creative fiasco from the previous year. But this one's worse, because instead of classic Beach Boys har­monies you get a transparently autotuned delivery. Intentionally autotuned, I'd say, as when you use Autotune not to correct vocal weaknesses, but as a symbolic artistic statement — «well, it's a song about the radio, we gotta have a little interference in there». It's still ugly.

Trying to seek out «niceties» on this album would immediately turn this review into a condescen­ding one, so I am not even going to try — instead, we should probably show our respect to the artist by harshly stating that A is a bunch of crap, and that, no matter how hard she tries (and I don't think she tries hard enough), her generally well-preserved, and still largely beautiful, voice cannot redeem this shallow, by-the-book material. It's better than the Britney Spears songs, I'll give you that, but not by much — certainly not in the production department, which is exactly the same, coating a boring acoustic guitar / piano skeleton with a tasteless mixture of electronic per­cussion, synths, and strings. Its emotional palette is completely predictable, and so are its hooks.

In short, I have nothing against Agnetha slipping into soft, slow, nostalgic «granny mode» — given her age, this would only be natural — but it is the most ridiculous thing in the world to let your «granny mode» be controlled by the guy who makes a living writing for American Idol. As far as I know, Jeff Lynne, Russ Ballard, and Justin Hayward are still living — and maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea, either, to finally acknowledge Elvis Costello and his burning desire to make himself useful to an ABBA member. I mean, the possibilities are really endless, so what the hell?.. Thumbs down, and here's hoping Lady A lives and thrives long enough to get the message. At least, as of 2013, she can still sing, and feel, and think, but she sure as hell doesn't keep herself good company.

Agnetha Fältskog: My Colouring Book

AGNETHA FÄLTSKOG: MY COLOURING BOOK (2004)

1) My Colouring Book; 2) When You Walk In The Room; 3) If I Thought You'd Ever Change Your Mind; 4) Sealed With A Kiss; 5) Love Me With All Your Heart; 6) Fly Me To The Moon; 7) Past, Present And Future; 8) A Fool Am I; 9) I Can't Reach Your Heart; 10) Sometimes When I'm Dreaming; 11) The End Of The World; 12) Remember Me; 13) What Now My Love.

Maybe Agnetha's decision to break the seal and come out of her retirement was somehow con­nected to the big «ABBA revival», culminating in the stylistically atrocious, but commercially successful Mamma Mia! musical, along with other things. Maybe it wasn't, and she just felt like singing. In any case, nobody's expectations should be expected to run too high for a 21st century Agnetha album — but I also think that, to some extent, an album like this could be predictable: a nostalgia trip back to the singer's roots, consisting exclusively of covers of 1960s pop songs. And when I say «pop», I mean pop: Barbra Streisand, Jackie DeShannon, Cilla Black, Shirley Bassey, that sort of thing. «Girl stuff». Sappy sentimental ballads. Just the kind of stuff you'd obviously expect a teenage girl to be growing up with in the early 1960s.

Except for ʽWhen You Walk In The Roomʼ, which was always a great, upbeat, catchy pop song, regardless of who was doing it, I have little love for most of these tunes in their original incarna­tions — a «genrist bias» I have never really felt the need to be ashamed of: too much mush, not enough backbone (something that ABBA themselves used to remedy very well, which is why I'll always hold their music over, let's say, The Carpenters). However, a «pop standard», if it is estab­lished well enough, may shift its substance over time, and on albums like these, they are treated like cherished institutions: My Colouring Book is not really a record about sap and sentiment, but rather a gallant display of reverence towards the people and the sounds that influenced the current artist. From that point of view, I am actually more thrilled (if you could call it that) to hear Agnetha cover Cilla Black's ʽIf I Thought You'd Ever Change Your Mindʼ than listen to Cilla Black's original — after all, Cilla Black just wanted to be a star and have a hit, but Agnetha, with this cover, wants to thank Cilla Black for brightening up her day in 1969, and that, to me, seems like a way cooler type of emotion.

Of course, you could technically say that any time about any artist covering any other artist, but the advantage of My Colouring Book is that Agnetha really loves this stuff, and is very clearly doing this not for the money or because «somebody asked her to». She was never a great singer (in terms of individuality, at least), but she approaches this material in just the right way: re­strained, but tremendously expressive within the limits of that restraint, and considering that her vocal power has remained amazingly well preserved (at 54, her voice has deepened only slightly, retaining most of its range and power), it is safe to say that this is one of the best-performed re­cords in her career.

Production-wise, this is «retro» through and through: lots of strings, and mostly acoustic backing all the rest of the way (guitars, pianos, brass, drumming — there is a loud electric guitar part on ʽWhen You Walk In The Roomʼ, which is required, but strings and pianos normally dominate); again, compared with the average standard of 2004 this is almost «stylish», and, in any case, a much better proposition than getting her to «modernize» things, which might have turned into a much bigger disaster than the production on I Stand Alone.

Because of the «setlist», I cannot properly afford a thumbs up rating for this album: there is only so much shallow, overblown orchestrated sentimentality I can take per one sitting, and even if I somewhat admire the purpose of the record, it is not likely that I will ever listen to it again, nor can I actively recommend it to anybody who is not as much of a «lush pop buff» as Agnetha is. But one thing, however, I can say: all those people complaining about how those ABBA girls «had no soul» on those ABBA albums, and were merely technically going through the motions, unable to express or convey genuine emotion with their plastic deliveries, can take a hike — or, rather, should be forced to listen to My Colouring Book, lie through their teeth about it, and then take a hike. In particular, no «plastic soul person» should probably have picked out the Shangri-Las' ʽPast, Present And Futureʼ as one of her choices — a song that wasn't even a big hit, but was probably the coolest exploitation of Beethoven ever to express basic teenage emotion, and must have struck Agnetha senseless even way back when.

Agnetha Fältskog: I Stand Alone

AGNETHA FÄLTSKOG: I STAND ALONE (1987)

1) The Last Time; 2) Little White Secrets; 3) I Wasn't The One (Who Said Goodbye); 4) Love In A World Gone Mad; 5) Maybe It Was Magic; 6) Let It Shine; 7) We Got A Way; 8) I Stand Alone; 9) Are You Gonna Throw It All Away; 10) If You Need Somebody Tonight.

A properly laconic review of this album would only need to state three things. One: Look at that new hairstyle. Two: Produced by Peter Cetera of Chicago fame, the author of ʽIf You Leave Me Nowʼ. Three: Two of the songs are co-credited to Diane Warren. Now multiply these three, cal­culate the cheese factor, and pre-draw your own pre-conclusions.

On the other hand, this laconicity would be just a tad too cruel. Although it is true that the title of the album is fairly stupid — it would be far more interesting if Agnetha actually dared to stay alone, rather than in the company of Pete Cetera, Diane Warren, and her latest hairdresser — it is also true that all of this album could have been very easily dedicated to lethargic adult contem­porary and embarrassing power ballads. Fortunately, coming from an ABBA background and all, Agnetha is so used to pop hooks and so not used to the generic power ballad format, that even Diane Warren cannot spoil things too bad: those last two songs, although I'd rather have her save them for Celine Dion, are formulaically romantic, but never try to go for that «storm in a teacup» approach that Warren's power ballads usually surmise — flat and forgettable, but not sickeningly exaggerated.

Furthermore, if we close our eyes on Cetera's soft-rock / synth-pop production, there is a small bunch of friendly, catchy, inoffensive pop songs here: ʽLet It Shineʼ, written in the old tradition of Carole King and Christine McVie, is arguably the best (but I'd so much rather see it produced by the likes of Lindsey Buckingham — then again, not in 1987, I guess, remember Tango In The Night?), but ʽLove In A World Gone Madʼ is also salvageable; curiously, its lyrics were written by Pete Seinfeld of King Crimson fame, who had apparently sold out in the 1980s and switched from "the rusted chains of prison moons are shattered by the sun" to "love in a world gone mad, the best thing we'll ever have, it's so precious what's between us two". Then again, why should poets be any different from musicians when it comes to survival?

ʽThe Last Timeʼ, ʽLittle White Secretsʼ, and ʽWe Got A Wayʼ are all decent pop songs as well, with fairly strong choruses, but always suffering from the «Eighties' bane» — faceless, stillborn production, with sterile keyboards and processed guitars (one interesting aspect, though, is that there are no drum machines, and relatively few drum parts suffer from electronic enhancement). And, no getting away from it, they are regularly interspersed with too overtly dramaticized, wishy-washy ballads, including a particularly disgusting bombastic duet with Cetera (ʽI Wasn't The Oneʼ) and songs with titles like ʽMaybe It Was Magicʼ that are unjustly deprived of ironic subtitles (ʽBut, Most Likely, It Was Just Crapʼ or something like that).

Nevertheless, even if the record still gets a thumbs down (it must take real magic for an LP to earn a «thumbs up» rating if it has Diane Warren on it), I must stress that it is not the proper epi­tome of a real bad mainstream 1980s pop record, and that my original expectations were set lower than that: in particular, I was not expecting any upbeat, traditionalistic power-pop cuts here, but there they are, supporting our faith in the overall decent taste of the ABBA crew. And, for what it's worth, I also have to add that Agnetha's singing is always lovely, properly restrained, and never overdone even on the worst songs here.

What is even more interesting is that, apparently, Agnetha was rather reluctant to record the album (apparently, Cetera had to press really hard to convince her to fly out to California and do it), and, once it came out, refused to engage in any promotional activities and went into a 14-year period of retire­ment from an active music career — a respectable decision if there ever was one. All of which gives us complete freedom of choice: we can take the album if we are Eighties buffs and like it, or we can pretend it never happened because somebody just didn't have the proper strength to say no at a certain point in time, or happened to be in need of a California vacation.

Agnetha Fältskog: Eyes Of A Woman

AGNETHA FÄLTSKOG: EYES OF A WOMAN (1985)

1) One Way Love; 2) Eyes Of A Woman; 3) Just One Heart; 4) I Won't Let You Go; 5) The Angels Cry; 6) Click Track; 7) We Should Be Together; 8) I Won't Be Leaving You; 9) Save Me (Why Don't Ya); 10) I Keep Turning Off Lights; 11) We Move As One.

The proper way to go about reviewing this album is sifting through the list of people who con­tributed to the songwriting. This time around, perhaps spurred on by Agnetha's proven potential for commercial success on her own, the array of contenders was really impressive: Elvis Costello (a self-proclaimed ABBA fan — ʽOliver's Armyʼ, remember?), Jeff Lynne, Eric Stewart of 10cc (who also produced the album), Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues, jazz guitarist Phil Palmer, and even the songwriting core of the classic Asia team (Wetton and Downes). Understandably, who could resist the charms of that hot blonde ABBA chick? All she needed to do was leave a recording of ʽI've Been Waiting For Youʼ on their answering machine.

So far, so good. Now for the inauspicious news. First, the contribution by Costello — pretty much the only artist of the lot to have anything to do with «cutting edge» in contemporary music — was not used. (Instead, it ended up recorded by Billy Bremner of Rockpile, and, sure enough, it failed to chart — guess those music industry advisor people know their stuff after all). I have no idea whether poor Elvis ended up shredding all of his bedroom and bathroom ABBA posters, but in any case, the decision was a little symbolic: even if the song was not all that great, the fact that Hayward and Stewart got the preference over Costello meant that the lady did not feel comfor­table about overstepping the boundaries of «suave romance».

Second, by 1985 Eric Stewart had pretty much squandered away his reputation, having made the transition from smartass musical innovation to generic adult contemporary troubadouring (and in a year from then, he would go on to produce one of the worst albums of Paul McCartney's solo career — certainly not a coincidence). Of the two songs that he contributes, ʽI Won't Be Leaving Youʼ is a predictably late 10cc-ish corny ballad, more fit for a Disney cartoon than a respectable pop album, and ʽSave Meʼ is a predictably late 10cc-ish corny dance rocker, more fit for a Weird Al satirical cover (if he could only find a hook to latch onto, that is) than a... oh well, you'd have to have an original in order to do a cover anyway, I guess.

Fortunately, we still have old Jeff to count upon for salvation: his ʽOne Way Loveʼ is at least written with a nod to the old Motown and the old ABBA, and has a fun, catchy melody, sup­ported with guitar jangle (in addition to pesky synths) and a sax outro. Hayward's ʽAngels Cryʼ, like any song written by Hayward, is also written with a complex vocal melody in mind, although I certainly wish they'd mixed Agnetha in a better way, with the vocals more upfront and less personality-effacing echo on them. On the other hand, the Asia song (ʽWe Move As Oneʼ) is one of those big fat Asia anthems that has a lot of pomp, but not a lot of interesting substance, and Agnetha lacks the big Wetton voice to make you fall under the illusion that this whole grandio­sity shenanigan really deserves its poise.

Recapitulating, I conclude that out of all suitors, Jeff Lynne is the most easily adaptable to take the lady's hand, but if dark glasses and big beards put her off, Justin Hayward is the second best candidate, whereas Wetton, Downes, and Eric Stewart should have been given the boot right away — certainly they would at least deserve to catch the same train as Costello. But actually, the best track on the entire album is probably ʽClick Trackʼ (co-written by Jack Ince and Phil Palmer), an unassuming pop rocker with sarcastic lyrics and a light, fun, not-give-a-damn attitude, like a slightly more musically conservative Tom Tom Club or something.

Bottomline is, the album's not awful, which is already quite an achievement, given that the record could have been easily filled up with run-of-the-mill power ballads and all sorts of «adult con­temporary» crap. Well, it does have a bit of each, but the general idea — to gather contributions from different established songwriters with different styles — was right, I think, because it at least gives Eyes Of A Woman a flair of unpredictability, so very important for a mainstream pop album. Too bad she didn't get Prince to produce it instead of Eric Stewart, but then, Prince pro­bably likes to accept his royalties in flesh rather than in cash, and Agnetha Fältskog is, above all, a proper, well-behaved lady, not accustomed to grinding with strangers.

Agnetha Fältskog: Wrap Your Arms Around Me

AGNETHA FÄLTSKOG: WRAP YOUR ARMS AROUND ME (1983)

1) The Heat Is On; 2) Can't Shake Loose; 3) Shame; 4) Stay; 5) Once Burned, Twice Shy; 6) Mr. Persuasion; 7) Wrap Your Arms Around Me; 8) To Love; 9) I Wish Tonight Could Last Forever; 9) Man; 10) Take Good Care Of Your Children; 11) Stand By My Side.

To be perfectly precise, the solo career of Agnetha Fältskog began as early as 1968 (yes, let us not forget that ABBA were ultimately another product of the late Sixties), and she had released a whoppin' four solo LPs before submerging her personality in ABBA's collective identity. From what I have heard, those records had their hits and misses, but since I am really not interested in carrying out a highly detailed survey of everything that the ABBA people did on their own, and also since most of these records were really only targeted at the local Swedish market, we will concentrate on the post-ABBA, internationally oriented products only.

People who are not major fans of the band, and are only willing to tolerate them for their melodic skills, but cringe at the production values, general aura, and visual image, will probably fall back in horror at the very idea of looking into the post-ABBA solo careers of any of its members, let alone the girls, who never did anything but sing and dance. To some extent, they may be right — but in reality, the worst thing about the international solo careers of both Agnetha and Frida is that they had the bad luck to sprout in the Eighties, a pretty rotten decade for commercial pop in general. On the other hand, both ladies had solid musical tastes, and knew well enough what it is that separates a well-written and creatively performed song from a hackjob.

Consider this: Agnetha's first post-ABBA LP was produced by Mike Chapman, the driving force behind such cheeseball artists as Sweet, Smokie, and Suzi Quatro, but also responsible for such late-1970s pop classics as Blondie's Parallel Lines and The Knack's debut — just the sort of guy you'd want by your side in order to put the magic touch on a bunch of catchy, harmless pop songs. And songwriting is all over the place: Agnetha herself takes credit for one song only (ʽManʼ), collecting «tributes» from all sorts of collaborators, the best known of whom is probably Russ Ballard (of Argent fame), and making sure that it does not all sound like ABBA. In fact, very few songs here sound like ABBA.

The big hit was ʽThe Heat Is Onʼ, which is a little surprising, considering that it was not all that differently arranged and sung from the original 1979 version by Noosha Fox — talk about the importance of public image and proper promotion, although Chapman's production does shed some of the disco-era gloss and goes instead for a slightly Latin-influenced carnivalesque atmo­sphere, which is kind of appropriate for a hedonistic tune about proper summer relaxation. Still catchy after all these years, I guess, though admittedly way too shallow even for the ABBA level; but if you have any feeling for «party music» at all, this one's for you.

Diversity is the key, though, as the party spirit of ʽHeatʼ is immediately followed by the slightly paranoid spirit of the Ballard-penned ʽCan't Shake Looseʼ, which even managed to chart in the generally ABBA-unfriendly United States. Its electronic production dates it fairly accurately, but the vocal melody is undeniably catchy, and the subject matter (unbeatable sexual attraction) has always been right up Agnetha's alley anyway. Melodic slide guitar serves as a solid heartstring-tugger on the dark pop of ʽOnce Burned, Twice Shyʼ; ʽMr. Persuasionʼ is a spot-on retro Motown imitation, with Agnetha doing a convincingly sexy imitation of young Diana Ross; and the pop reggae rhythms of ʽTake Good Care Of Your Childrenʼ also lay the foundation for a much better song than could be thought of based on the title — most such songs are just sappy crap, but here the bluesy harmonica, the occasional odd police whistle, and the deep background vocals add a pinch of suspense and even impending danger.

The straightforward ballads are a different kind of story: lacking the genius hooks of ABBA composers, they always run the risk of being little other than generic mush. The title track, written by Chapman himself, is way too deep in «Disney princess» territory; its vocal melody, journeying across a tricky, challenging path, has some merit, but should have been supported by something other than the old predictable «strings of paradise». Agnetha's own ʽManʼ is a sincere attempt to write something in the old ABBA style, and some of the vocal moves show that it may have been unfair for Benny and Björn not to ever let the girls partage of the songwriting credits; but the accompanying music, again, is completely non-descript.

Still, on the whole this is a pleasant surprise. Stereotypical male chauvinist thinking tends to regard Agnetha as the «dumb blonde» and Frida as the «risky redhead», and it is true that, artisti­cally, Frida's solo debut was a little bit more intriguing, but the question here is not whether these albums show you the meaning of life — the question is whether you are guaranteed to fall asleep on the third song, as it happens with so much generic pop muzak, and Wrap Your Arms Around Me, despite its generally uneven quality, is still very far from what I'd call a typically boring album. Besides, if you get the deluxe edition, one of the bonus tracks is ʽIt's So Nice To Be Richʼ, a tune recorded for a 1983 Swedish movie that has to count as one of the most hila­riously campy things to ever come out of the whole ABBA camp (sort of a spiritual successor to ʽMoney Money Moneyʼ, only adapted to the Eighties' style). Thumbs up, definitely.

ABBA: Live

ABBA LIVE (1986)

1) Dancing Queen; 2) Take A Chance On Me; 3) I Have A Dream; 4) Does Your Mother Know; 5) Chiquitita; 6) Thank You For The Music; 7) Two For The Price Of One; 8) Fernando; 9) Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight); 10) Super Trouper; 11) Waterloo; 12) Money Money Money; 13) The Name Of The Game/Eagle; 14) On And On And On.

ABBA quietly faded away in late 1982, each girl going her own way — both Agnetha and Frida managed to pack a few more international hits under the belt before settling down and mostly dis­appearing from public view — and Benny and Björn still occasionally sticking together, e. g. for the Tim Rice collaboration on the musical Chess and other projects. Even with the recent revival of the band's popularity — most lately illustrated by the intentional cheese of Mamma Mia the musical — they have avoided the temptation to reunite; a wise decision, perhaps, since it gives them an additional touch of class that most of their pop brethren could only wish for.

In any case, the lack of new material has ensured a small, but steady stream of from-the-vaults releases: small, because the band members seemingly do not want to make every sneeze they ever recorded public, but steady, because everybody wants to pay the bills. Chief among these is the live album from 1986, an odd mix of tracks pulled from the Australian tour of 1977 (which, by the way, is captured much more prominently and excitingly in ABBA: The Movie), a London gig in 1979 (which, by the way, is captured much more prominently and excitingly in ABBA: In Con­cert 1979), and the Dick Cavett Meets ABBA TV special in 1981 (which, by the way, is captured much more prominently and excitingly in the Dick Cavett Meets ABBA TV special, provided you can get a high quality non-Youtube copy).

As things go, this one is clearly a "memento" above all else. The intermingling of the band's 1977 "Eurofolk" sound with their 1979 disco image is not entirely unauthentic (after all, they did inter­mingle that material in 1979), but the sequencing is poor; the Cavett tunes, recorded in an entire­ly different environment, do not fit in well with the rest; the mix is a far cry from the gloss of the studio records, not to mention rumours of overdubs; and the idea of arranging 'The Name Of The Game' and 'Eagle' as a medley is a bad one, even if it belonged to the band members themselves.

Nevertheless, I am totally sure that ABBA Live deserves its place under the sun and merits hea­ring even on the part of non-diehard fans. Reason? Simple: it proves, once and for all, that ABBA were a band, not just a soulless chemical concoction of Swedish record industry. As you look through old footage of the band, you might get the impression that they always lip-synched on ca­mera, but that is mostly true of their videos and innumerable TV appearances (not the Dick Ca­vett appearance, though); for ticket-buying concert fans, everything was honest. Real instruments, real singing, real kick-ass energy (in places).

Granted, like every band with primary emphasis on pop perfection, ABBA were always studio-oriented, and for pure enjoyment, you do not really need to add the "live" element (unless it is to watch rather than to listen, but even there for each appetizing sight of the girls wiggling their bot­toms you get to stare at Björn's bare chest for half a minute — oh, was that sexist? sorry — and let's not even mention the costumes). None of these versions even begin to overtake their studio counterparts; generally, the closer they are to reproducing the original, the better it comes off, and while the girls are almost impeccable in that respect, the playing suffers almost inevitably. Some­times, for an extra touch of "stadium rock" atmosphere, they let their real guitarist (not Björn, who mostly just used his instrument on stage to look cool) fly off with an ex­tended solo ('Does Your Mother Know', 'Eagle'); he is highly competent, but no Dave Gilmour, and his well-crafted instrumental breaks in the studio are far more memorable and inspirational than the improvised guitar heroics on these live takes.

But, as I was saying, this is not the point: if there is a noble point to the album, it is merely to show you that the band generally did a good job on stage, and did not hide behind pre-recorded tapes and lip-synching, unlike most teenage idols of today. If anything, it is just one more remin­der of how truly awesome, from a technical point at least, the Agnetha-Frida duet had really been at the band's peak — there is really not a second on this album that would make me cringe from a displaced note or discordant harmonizing. Looking at it from this side, I emerge with a resolute thumbs up, even if the cash-in motives behind the release are more than plain. Now, perhaps, a good way of redeeming executive greed would be to retire the album from the catalog and replace it with a couple of remixed and remastered complete shows from "the Golden Era" — including, among other things, a complete performance of the 'Girl With Golden Hair' mini-musical. What are you waiting for, industry people? Now that Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan have reignited the old flames, here is your fat chance of combining common good with personal gain.

ABBA: The Visitors

ABBA: THE VISITORS (1981)

1) The Visitors; 2) Head Over Heels; 3) When All Is Said And Done; 4) Soldiers; 5) I Let The Music Speak; 6) One Of Us; 7) Two For The Price Of One; 8) Slipping Through My Fingers; 9) Like An Angel Passing Through My Room; 10*) Should I Laugh Or Cry; 11*) You Owe Me One; 12*) The Day Before You Came; 13*) Cassandra; 14*) Under Attack.

The Visitors was not necessarily intended to be ABBA's last album, but, given that both marria­ges were in tatters by the time it came along, and also given a major shift in commercial tastes that prevented the band from being able to combine its musical vision (yes, they had a vision) with further strings of number one hits, I am pretty sure they must have felt some premonition. Already the next year, when they went into the studio once again, they found themselves inca­pable of putting together an LP's worth of material. With The Visitors, the effort did work, but the results were more than strange.

In fact, I remember actively hating the record upon hearing it for the first time — a shattering anti-climax to Super Trouper, everything dim and wobbly and lacking in polish, and who in the world needs an ABBA album without polish? Also, objective assessment would state that this is the record that has the least share of proverbial ABBA classics — the biggest and, in fact, the only hit from it was the bitter pop song 'One Of Us', and even that was sort of a minor achieve­ment even in the face of their earliest successes like 'Ring Ring' and 'Waterloo'. And who in the world needs an ABBA album without hits?

But there is also a different kind of opinion, and I have been slowly working my way from the former right up to the latter. That opinion states that The Visitors is the only ABBA album that was not, in fact, targeted at all at hit-making; that Benny and Björn, consciously or subconscious­ly aware that their days as prime hit-makers were at an end, simply let their musical instincts have their way without paying too much attention to the market, and that the songs on here were writ­ten and performed so as to reflect the kind of things the people in the band were really going through at the time. Not that ABBA ever lacked a streak of sincerity — from 'One Man, One Wo­man' to 'The Winner Takes It All' you can observe it quite transparently — but The Visitors is the one and only ABBA album coming straight from the heart.

Therefore, it is only natural that it can take a little more time to sink in; its hooks are not as pain­fully obvious, its potential gloss and shine mostly sacrificed to give way for a slightly more com­plex and meaningful melodic approach. Even the lyrics have matured: 'Slipping Through My Fin­gers', for instance, tells a similar "family trouble" story to 'Hey Hey Helen' (one could, in fact, see the mother-daughter split in 'Fingers' as a natural sequel to the wife-husband split in 'Helen'), but in words that have been chosen with far better care and intelligence.

The weirdness of The Visitors, however, is nowhere as evident as it is in the title track, which some people keep mistaking for a tale of a strange encounter with alien beings — probably beca­use of all the odd sci-fi type arrangements at the beginning, as well as the title itself — but which seems, in fact, to have been written about the persecution of dissidents in the Eastern Europe bloc under Soviet domination: ABBA's one and only overtly political song. It takes some gall to take such a serious subject and arrange it as a fast-tempo catchy pop number ('Now I hear them mo­ving...'), but the slightly paranoid tinge of the melody atones for that, and, besides, in the long run the song's most bewitching part is its opening — a disturbing polyphony of synthesizer tones with Frida's ghost vocals droning in the background: 'I hear the doorbell ring and suddenly the panic takes me...'. Pretty unsettling for a first impression of the world's leading pop band's latest record; no wonder the public did not have the courage to buy into it.

There is plenty of disturbance and paranoia elsewhere as well. 'Soldiers' makes some odd allu­sions to some upcoming apocalypse, panicky singing and menacing guitar and a strangely "cheer­ful" chorus that only makes things even more suspicious. 'Head Over Heels', sarcastic character assassination over a dark retro-pop melody. And then there's all the divorce songs, of course: 'One Of Us', 'When All Is Said And Done', 'I Let The Music Speak' (well, the latter is not techni­cally a divorce song, but its main message — trying to find consolation in music without much success — is very much in line with the other two).

But this is still ABBA, and all the paranoia is well-compensated for with elements of beauty: the melancholic march of 'Let it be a joke, let it be a smile...' in 'I Let The Music Speak', the graceful chorus resolution in 'Head Over Heels', the controlled, but burning desperation in 'one of us is crying, one of us is lying...', the humble majesty of 'Slipping Through My Fingers' — all of this is priceless, and its combination with elements of the unusual only raises the stakes.

The album's only misfire, as far as I am concerned, is the Björn-sung 'Two For The Price Of One', a rather forgettable and lyrically lame tale of a goofy attempt at sexual encounter. You'd think that by now they would have learned to leave all the Björn-sung numbers off the record at the last minute, but then, I guess, life would be so much duller if we did not have at least one permanent flaw in our genetic structure. Fortunately, we live in the days when we can all make our own al­bum, and my recommendation is to swap this tune with the excellent B-side 'Should I Laugh Or Cry', much more suitable for the overall tone of the album.

It goes without saying that the album gets an assured thumbs up judgement on all sides, even though it took me some time to become certified. Whether the existence of The Visitors does gua­rantee ABBA a late-coming blast of "artistic respectability" or not is up to debate. Some might argue that "artistic respectability" is firmly reserved for the likes of the Soft Machine or at least Elvis Costello, and The Visitors does not even begin to touch Elvis Costello. Others might argue from the opposite side — that ABBA were only as good as they were dumb, and any at­tempt at seriousness on their part would smash their artistic integrity the same way that the career of KISS was undermined by Music From 'The Elder', etc. But these are brainy judgements, while ABBA's melodies were always directed primarily at the heart — and in this department, The Visitors does not fail, although it requires a little more time to succeed.

ABBA: Super Trouper

ABBA: SUPER TROUPER (1980)

1) Super Trouper; 2) The Winner Takes It All; 3) On And On And On; 4) Andante, Andante; 5) Me And I; 6) Happy New Year; 7) Our Last Summer; 8) The Piper; 9) Lay All Your Love On Me; 10) The Way Old Friends Do; 11*) Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight); 12*) Elaine; 13*) Put On Your White Sombrero.

ABBA reached their disco peak not on Voulez-Vous, but with 'Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)', a monstrous hit released in October 1979 and still remembered fondly, as evidenced by Madonna's blatant sampling of its main riff for her incomparably weak 'Hung Up' single twenty six years later. The song gives us ABBA doing their absolute immaculate best to sound their absolute immaculate worst — the hookline is as utterly dumb as it is unforgettable, the chorus as thoroughly robotic as it is danceable. And the key question remains unanswered: why is it so that Agnetha Faltskog needs someone specifically after midnight? Surely this cannot mean... oh my God...

There is still some straightahead disco on Super Trouper, the last of the band's commercially stellar records, but most of its upbeat numbers lead into new areas of dance-pop, replacing disco bass with less funky, more electronic-style grooves. They have changed their style — again — not necessarily for the best, since they seemed more humane and lovable when the sound was a bit more loose, with acoustic guitars and shuffling beats rather than synth-and-metronome-packed creations like 'Super Trouper'. But this is not to say that they lost any of their creativity — they simply may have sacrificed a little bit of it, to fit in with the worsening times.

What's interesting about Super Trouper is its emotional tug of war. By now, the days of shiny happy pappy (such as the band experienced around 1974-75) are long gone, and, with the band members' personal lives in complete disarray, the soap opera is perfectly well reflected on disc. Yet, as commercial craftsmen, they are also well aware that the buying public will never want their ABBA spouting nothing but depression, and the scathing bitterness is so seriously mixed up with "fun and joy" that only Benny and Björn's seemingly endless stream of great melodies saves the record from utter confusion.

Case in point: not everyone would dare to place the album's most optimistically resplendent num­ber — the Frida-led title track — back-to-back with its gloomiest opus, the Agnetha-led 'Winner Takes It All', all about you-know-what. The former is instantly memorable, major key, light, an­gel-style with its brilliantly arranged vocal parts; the latter is «faux-minor» (major, but still with a «gloomy» tinge to it), dark romantic, winding up high with a plea for help rather than out of an overwhelming feeling of joy. But both work equally well, despite the relative melodic simplicity of each.

The biggest disco leftover is even darker than 'Voulez-Vous': 'Lay All Your Love On Me' is 'S.O.S.' for the new generation, transmitting its panicky atmosphere through metronomic dance beats and electronically-altered down-crashing vocals at the end of each verse rather than more, shall we say it, "classical" means; but, again, it works. A whole album of tunes like that one might have been unbearable, but to see it jammed in between the folk stylization of 'The Piper' and the anthemic closer 'The Way Old Friends Do' is quite acceptable.

The biggest laugh is also unforgettable: 'On And On And On' shamelessly steals its major key­board and vocal hook from the Beach Boys' 'Do It Again', but if the latter, when it came out in 1969, was utterly nostalgic, an almost desperate calling out to the happy carefree days of yore, 'On And On And On' transforms it into something totally futuristic, announcing a new age of dance-pop rather than yearning for a past age of it. Still, the overall message is about as light­weight as it always used to be: 'Keep on rocking baby till the night is gone, on and on and on'.

But if you still prefer to do it like they used in the old times, right after 'On And On And On' you get 'Andante, Andante' — for all we know, this is basically the same meaning and the same mes­sage, except you get in an old-fashioned waltz atmosphere (well, it's not waltz technically, but it gets you waltzing all the same), with just a few gracious electric guitar licks to give it a new shiny coat. It's as stately and refined as 'On And On And On' is reckless. You let your hair down, then you pick it back up. That's the way life goes.

All in all, this is quite an exciting journey of an album. Yes, it is somewhat colder and more de­void of living instruments and their quirky behaviour than I'd like it to be, but it compensates for that with more maturity (there are even some lyrical passages that are not half-bad!) and even more diversity than is usual for these guys, and for that, I'd have to consider it their finest moment in the late, post-1977 stages of their career. Thumbs up from every beat of my heart and every impulse of my brain.