I was listening to ESPN’s “Mike and Mike in the Morning” last week, as they briefly discussed the revelation that Madonna would be the half-time “entertainment” at this season’s Super Bowl. It’s odd that Madonna would be picked for this, because this expatriate phony has abundantly showed her contempt for the country that made her rich out of all proportion, even when critics said Cyndi Lauper was the superior talent. Where is Madonna now? Living in a castle in the UK and faking a Brit accent. More amusing was the production staff’s hit and miss attempt to find Madonna songs to play after the commercial breaks; Madonna simply isn’t the central figure in Western cultural development that she and her academic feminist supporters believe she is (the professor in a media course I took during a brief stay in Sacramento seemed to spend most of her time waxing enthusiastic about Madonna; I must confess that I disturbed the atmosphere in the classroom several times by challenging her assumptions about Madonna’s monumentalness). When not making god-awful Razzy-winning movies like that Wallis Simpson biopic, Madonna is merely an archaic relic of the past. If you don’t believe this, ask yourself when was the last time you heard a Madonna song on the radio, even on a 1980s “oldies” station.
Anyways, one of the songs that was a “miss”—meaning that it wasn’t even a Madonna song—was the synthesized intro to “Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (A Man after Midnight).” I’m sure many of you have heard it, but can’t quite place it. One reason may be because the rest of the song wasn’t a hit in the U.S.—or you are not a fan of Swedish pop group ABBA. Odd as it may seem now, this group once made the success of the Beatles’ during their heyday look like the third act on the marquee—that is everywhere but the U.S., where they were little more than curiosities outside the Scandinavian-American population for most of their presence on the U.S. pop charts. It sure brings back memories, though, perhaps not necessarily ones I care to relate. Alright, I confess. The first record I ever purchased (or rather, cassette tape), was ABBA’s Greatest Hits, the group’s third U.S. album and first gold record in this country. I heard the song “S.O.S” on the radio, and for some reason I decided I needed to have this record to make life bearable. The “dean” of rock critics, Robert Christgau, had this to say about this particular record in his Village Voice “Consumer Guide”:
“Although four of these songs have gone top twenty here, the title commemorates the band's conquest of such places as West Germany and Costa Rica, where Abba's Europop is the biggest thing since the Beazosmonds. Americans with an attraction to vacuums, late capitalism, and satellite TV adduce Phil Spector and the Brill Building Book of Hooks in Abba's defense, but the band's real tradition is the advertising jingle, and I'm sure their disinclination to sing like Negroes reassures the Europopuli. Pervasive airplay might transform what is now a nagging annoyance into an aural totem. It might also transform it into an ashtray. God bless America, we're not likely to find out which.”
I have to admit that Christgau’s negative reviews were a lot of fun. Yes, ABBA did twist real rock and R&B purists into pretzels with their irrepressible synthesizer (or synthesized)-driven melodies and the multi-tracked female vocals that often sounded more alien instrument than of human origin. Not that the critics didn’t have a point; to many, ABBA came off as little more than studio creations, like The Archies or Alvin and the Chipmunks. Bjorn and Benny were not young “rock and rollers” like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones, who drank from the well of 1950s American R & B; their “influences” were French variete (think Jacques Offenbach’s “Orpheus in the Underworld”) and German polka music. In the 1960s, Bjorn was in a band that played folk and Dixieland Jazz music—not because he liked it, but because it was popular in Sweden at the time, and it was a way to make money playing music. Benny had more rock “cred,” playing keyboard for the Hep Stars, which was styled as the Swedish answer to the Beatles, recording mainly cover versions of American and British hits, and a few songs that Benny wrote. The groups’ cover of British rocker Vince Taylor’s “Brand New Cadillac” was actually quite good as a British invasion-type knock-off. In the late 1960s, with the addition of an African-American singer, Charlotte Walker (the fiancé of the band’s front man, Sven Hedlund), and then Bjorn, the group drifted into commercial pop and folk, which caused artistic squabbles and finally the break-up of the band. Hedlund and Walker set-off on their own to record as a duet with a vocal style not dissimilar to the one ABBA would later foster. Bjorn and Benny went their own way, taking along their new girlfriends, Agnetha and Anni-Frid, both of whom had some modest success as singers.
Although Bjorn and Benny were never “hip” to the latest musical trends in America the way the British were, it is nonetheless somewhat disingenuous for them to claim that their relative lack of success in the U.S. was due to their "foreign" style. For one thing, ABBA was hard to take seriously by Americans because of those whacky androgynous outfits that made them look as if they belonged in an Ed Wood movie; Elton John might dress in a Daffy Duck outfit on stage, but he was deliberately personifying the oddball, and ABBA took themselves oh so seriously. Perhaps also it was that hideous eyeliner that made the women look like extras in a zombie flick. Perhaps it was because you thought Agnetha (the blonde) was hot until you noticed in the close-ups that she had this rather considerable tooth gap. And then maybe it had something to do with the group’s unwillingness to do the heavy-lifting; Bjorn admitted that “We are not prepared to stay for months and months like all other foreign groups have to do to make if they want to make it big in the States.”
I spent four years of my life in Germany, and the only spot on the radio dial that I heard American music on a regular basis was the one occupied by Armed Forces Radio—although German record stores always made room for English-language music. In countries like this which maintained a cultural insularity in which American music was scorned as barbaric, European acts like ABBA could find great success because they were viewed as untainted by non-white influences. But it is wrong to say that ABBA’s music was something that could not find a home in the American market; in fact the U.S. musical landscape was saturated with similarly lush, melody-driven pop in the 1970s. Along with countless one-offs, ABBA could easily fit in the universe occupied by the Carpenters, Bread, Olivia Newton-John and Barry Manilow. There might not be the critical acceptance, but commercially all of these acts were maddeningly successful.
ABBA was nevertheless at a disadvantage in competing with these other pop-confection stars, because their synthetic sound failed to achieve the same level of “sincerity” of string orchestration that even straight rock songs employed during the Seventies. Even the singing seemed synthetic. They sung in English for reasons of commerce; for them, it was merely a useful vehicle to express a sound. Bjorn admitted as much when he said that the words were in the beginning were just “something to give the girls something to sing,” and later to “give some kind of feeling.” In interviews in English, Agnetha was uncomfortable, hesitant and stiff; Anni-Frid (the brunette) barely spoke above a whisper. So it was not surprising that unlike natural English speakers, they had difficulty in conveying subtlety of meaning; on some songs, like “Waterloo,” they got away with clever phrasings, or on others they managed an adult sensibility, such as “Knowing Me, Knowing You.” But when the lyrics were pedestrian, you noticed that when they sang solo Agnetha often came off as tinny and whiny, and Anni-Frid often sounded like she was singing in a vacuum tube; it seemed as if they trying too hard to get the pronunciations right, and losing nuance in the process. Together, they created undeniable magic, but on record this was amplified by multi-tracking their voices.
While ABBA was lionized throughout most of the civilized world, American cultural barbarians like Christgau continued to say things like this about their records:
“Since this is already the best-selling group in the universe, I finally have an answer when people ask me to name the Next Big Thing. What I wonder is how we can head them off at the airport. Plan A: Offer Bjorn and Benny the leads in Beatlemania (how could they resist the honor?) and replace them with John Phillips and Denny Doherty. Plan B: Appoint Bjorn head of the U.N. and Benny his pilot (or vice versa) and replace them with John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Plan C: Overexpose them in singing commercials. Plan D: Institute democratic socialism in their native land, so that their money lust will meet with the scorn of their fellow citizens.”
And:
“Fourteen cuts, close to an hour of polyvinyl chloride, and only two of 'em made U.S. top ten. We have met the enemy and they are them.”
When the group finally embarked on a brief North American tour in 1979, their first U.S. stop was Seattle; Times critic Patrick MacDonald had this observation to impart:
“ABBA’s debut is a disappointment. Their performance was almost passive. Agnetha sang a song about staying alive that was so banal it was laughable.”
Before I go any further, let us first admit that this is what happens when intellect is allowed to interfere in the process. ABBA cannot be dismissed completely out of hand; after all, they were admitted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last year, amidst some controversy from the rock music community. Only Benny and Anni-Frid appeared at their induction; Benny offered that he had purchased an Elvis Presley record in his youth, although he could hardly say that “Jailhouse Rock” had any influence on his musical tastes, and he didn’t think it important to mention his association with the Hep Stars. ABBA fanatics may have hated country singer Faith Hill’s rendition of “The Winner Takes it All,” which other than “S.O.S” and “Knowing Me, Knowing You” is about the only song in ABBA’s repertoire that would have been appropriate for this venue, and I admit that I didn’t care for the bombastic vocal gymnastics (thank you, Mariah Carey). But otherwise Hill managed to pull-off this supposedly hard song to sing to the obvious admiration of Benny (who played the piano), and the competent backing band even gave it a “rock” sensibility (the ABBA fanatics prefer Belgian singer Dana Winner’s cover version, probably because it sounds like elevator music).
It is also easy to forget that their sound was somewhat “radical” for the time; they were studio junkies, and rather than string orchestras, they used synthesizers to create a symphonic sound, and the impossibly catchy hooks allowed them to get away with it. Rolling Stone magazine generally panned their records, but generously gave their 1982 double album compilation The Singles a five star review, stating that just the first side of Disk One had more hooks than most recording artists managed in an entire career. And it didn’t matter if the lyrics were banal; it was just the sound of those multi-tracked voices that draws you in like a psychedelic drug.
Let me say now that I am not an ABBA fan technically, but a fan of the tight and tuneful single that was an integral part—or rather, the integral part—of the pop rock lexicon since the 1950s; today, however, it is virtually nonexistent on contemporary radio, exemplified by the fact that there is barely enough "hits" to fill a top-10 list, let alone a top-40. My liking of a particular musical act is directly related to the number of hit songs they had that I like. And I liked a lot of ABBA songs, although more in the way of junk food than a meal. Their songs are easy on the ears, they make no particular demands on the intellect, which is all that one asks as a minimum from a pop song. I knew I was never going to learn anything from an ABBA song, like I might from a Beatles, Paul Simon, or even an Eagles song, but it would slide right by like a piece of chocolate melting away in your mouth, a temporary pleasure.
I have to admit that I find ABBA’s “back story” worthy of note as well. Anni-Frid was a daughter of Heinrich Himmler’s infamous “Lebensborn” project, in which non-Germans with “Aryan” physical characteristics (like blonde hair and blue eyes) were selected for breeding purposes with German soldiers, in return for which they were allowed special privileges and financial support; an estimated 12,000 children were born from this arrangement—all considered pure-blood “German” by the Nazis. These children were to be educated in the Nazi fashion, and eventually become the ruling class “elite” in the countries of their birth, in this case Norway. Of course, the Germans lost the war, and these children were still considered “German,” and much worse. To avoid the inevitable ostracism and discrimination, Anni-Frid’s mother moved to Sweden, where she died when the girl was two. It isn’t surprising that Sweden would welcome them; although a “neutral” country, until 1943 Sweden continued to have closer political and economic ties to Germany than it did with the Allies, and only under international pressure did it withdraw its economic exchanges with Germany (particularly the export of raw materials like iron ore, helpful to the Nazi war effort). It has also been noted that many Swedes accepted Nazi philosophy, and until 1975 eugenics and forced sterilization laws were on the books. The National Socialist Front, the successor to the Swedish Nazi Party, was recently remade into the “People’s Front,” and other fascist-inspired political groups have arisen, particularly in response to Muslim immigration. But it would be unfair to paint that brush over all Swedes; ABBA (or at least Benny and Bjorn) made an effort to cross as many international boundaries as possible (“Fernando” had something to do with the Mexican Revolution, I think). They employed a black drummer during their 1977 Australian tour, and “I Have a Dream” seems to have been inspired by the Martin Luther King Jr. speech. During their North American tour, a group of kids would be gathered-up at each stop to appear on stage when the song was performed; in the film “ABBA in Concert” which chronicled the tour, Anni-Frid was seen trying to mollify an envious little white girl as she looked disapprovingly at a little black boy that Anni-Frid happened to be squeezing the shoulder of.
ABBA never recorded together as a group after 1982, and all members insist they will never get together again for any reason, unlike the surviving Beatles who agreed to a reunion of sorts in the late 1990s (before George Harrison passed away) for the Beatles Anthology television event. Publically the reason is because there just wouldn’t be the “magic” that they once had, but even if there was some motivation to do it, the biggest stumbling block would be Agnetha, who has kept mostly to herself for a quarter-century, rarely traveling outside the country or even her own estate. I read a Daily Mail story from a few years back entitled “Is Abba's Agnetha Faltskog finally ready to forgive her bandmates for years of misery?” The insinuation is that the other group members were unresponsive to the shy Agnetha’s sensitivities—such as her fear of flying and that she “found Abba fans alarming and would have terrible daydreams in which they set upon her and consumed her alive.” This is a woman who obviously had some psychological issues that are peculiar to herself, and it isn’t fair to blame the other group members for “making her life hell.” After all, they helped make her rich and famous (at least in Sweden). It is not really clear why after 30 years she still holds a grudge, refusing to be photographed with the other three together, or why, according to her publicist, there is no contact with the other group members “on any level.”
In an interview in 1981, Agnetha admitted that in the beginning, she wanted “glamour” and “to make some money,” but now she realized that it didn’t make her happy. She married too young, and was distrustful, she said. She didn’t know what would happen in the future for the group; “We have to be interested in others and to show more feeling”—apparently in reference to the marriage break-ups and Agnetha’s discomfort with personal interaction. “The way people are so cold right now scares me.” She admitted that she would like to make a feature film with the group, but if she did it would be up to Bjorn and Benny, because they would have to agree that she would have the “main role.” Agnetha never seemed to accept the fact that without ABBA, she like the rest group would be largely unknown outside of Sweden; ABBA was the sole basis upon which anyone would even bother to care how depressed she was. And anyone who has seen an Ingmar Bergman movie knows how depressing the Swedes can be.
Benny and Anni-Frid seemed to have put ancient history (meaning the end of their marriage three decades ago) to rest, appearing comfortable together at the aforementioned Hall of Fame event. Anni-Frid claimed that she had called Agnetha that day to find out how she felt about winning the honor, which was odd since the group members must have been informed of this well in advance so that they could make the necessary preparations (and Benny to join rehearsals for the song). It is was obvious that Agnetha had no intention of appearing, and apparently had made no public comment about it, or was even close enough to her former colleagues to talk about it. One suspects that Bjorn’s absence had something to do with Agnetha’s refusal to appear, since her absence would then have been too conspicuous and they would required to explain her ongoing “issues.” And (I’m admittedly being unkind here) Agnetha has also long since lost the “international sex symbol” looks that made her the most recognizable member of the group, and Anni-Frid seems to be not only a well-grounded person who’s put away old grudges, but also has aged rather better.
But unless your band is the Rolling Stones, the break-up of musical groups are inevitable, for one reason or another. In 1981, Swedish television aired “Dick Cavett Meets ABBA,” another effort to show how “important” the group was. Instead, according to a Swedish critic, they seemed like “content people without enthusiasm, oscillating between indifference and the spirit they have to show for fans.” This may be explained by the discomfort between them as recently divorced couples, but when Benny opined “We are in an extremely privileged position because we can choose. We are the only musicians in this country, and one of the few groups in the whole world who can afford to do exactly what we want to do,” he could have just as well have admitted that there really wasn’t anything to keep them together anymore.
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