Do you know where teen-pop comes from? Are you familiar with Madonna’s musical influences? Well, then, you should’ve been at the Bowery Ballroom last Tuesday, when a group called Bjorn Again gave a $20 history lesson to all comers.
Bjorn Again is an ABBA tribute band. Except "tribute band" doesn’t really do them justice. They pretty much are ABBA. They look like ABBA naturally–being a blond guy, a blond girl, a brunette and a brown-haired bearded guy–and when they put on their makeup and costumes, they look exactly like ABBA. They have ABBA’s font; they know all of ABBA’s stage moves and vocal affectations, plus they can sing like bastards–basically, they do an ABBA that must give the real ABBA some pause.
The band is from Australia, and they’ve been at this for some time, having toured worldwide since 1989. In England, Ireland and Sweden they are understandably huge, playing for tens of thousands of people on the European festival circuit. They have met Nirvana, Metallica, that Duchess Fergie, the Spice Girls and even ABBA, whose guitarist/blond-guy Bjorn Ulvaeus has said of them, "Anyone who looks like me ought to have a successful career."
Bjorn Again came onstage at 10 p.m., right on time. It was Halloween, but only about half of the crowd was in costume, and in lame costume at that–anyone with a real yen for dressing up was over at the Village parade. There were a lot of disco queens, some afro’ed dudes, and a couple of fat, ugly drunk women, who didn’t need costumes, just an excuse to yell.
Bjorn Again does such a good job of hiding their identities (and their line-up changes so frequently) that I am forced to refer to them by their ridiculous ABBA titles: "Benny Anderwear," "Frida Longstokin," "Agnetha Falstart" and "Bjorn Volvo-us." The guys came out first, in what looked like red-and-blue-frilled karate uniforms. Bjorn picked up a guitar and Benny got behind his keyboard as the band started "Waterloo," which sounded a lot like that "Build me up, buttercup" song from oldies radio.
The girls came out in grand style about 15 seconds into the tune. They wore disco spaceman outfits, showing off their long and fantastically shiny legs, and they not only moved in sync and looked hot, they sang unbelievably well. Once they started their four-part harmonies with the guys, you understood why Bjorn Again has played nearly 2000 shows around the world.
"S.O.S" was great; it’s clear that Madonna ripped nearly all of "Like a Prayer" off this song. "Ring Ring" was another standout, with five-part harmonies from the band plus their bassist/utility-guitarist "Rutger Sonofagunn." It featured a short theatrical break (much like the skit Britney Spears inserted in her "Oops...I Did it Again" video) that had Benny and Bjorn talking to each other on giant rubber phones. Kind of like Raffi for adults.
Halfway through the set, the girls went backstage for a costume change while Benny and Bjorn mangled a medley of "Born to Be Wild," "Whole Lotta Love," "Are You Gonna Go My Way?" and "Smoke On the Water." The fact that I was headbanging to these tunes is a testament to their craft, because the band’s bass and guitar were about 30 decibels too low for rock ’n’ roll. Bjorn Again also does a version of "Paranoid," but not this evening.
The set-enders were, predictably, "Dancing Queen" and "Thank You For the Music, " which the Aladdin soundtrack stole from. (Track three, "One Jump Ahead," cops the melody.) During these songs, some very unthreatening Bjorn Again fans got onstage, and the band danced with them until they were quietly and peaceably removed by security. Then Frida and Agnetha thanked the crowd in their put-on pidgin English (the only complaint you can make about Bjorn Again is that their accents aren’t too consistent) and we all went home.
This year, the original members of ABBA, none of whom are dead, were offered $750 million to do a 100-concert world tour. They declined. Smart move, guys. I’m sure ABBA knows that if they put their old, worn-out asses onstage, they would succeed only in tarnishing their image and hurting album sales. Better to let a tight band of phenomenal singers spread their fame throughout the world, and send fans home looking not for Bjorn Again albums (of which there are a few), but for ABBA’s Gold: Greatest Hits. I’m jealous.
Ned Vizzini
Placebo
The Event 2, Brighton
(October 26)
Here’s what I understand about rock music: It’s designed to provoke, emphasize the generation gap. When gothic sex dwarf Brian Molko sings, "Run away from all your boredom/…/Your worries, and cares/All it takes is one decision, a lot of guts, a little vision," on 80s throwback and minor incendiary device "Slave to the Wage," he’s appealing directly to the youth. Critics everywhere have slammed this song–a call-to-arms to escape the siren call of the 9 to 5–as being patronizing, simplistic. No it’s not. Tonight, when it’s performed all swathed in dry ice and massive drum beats, it’s a challenge–perhaps a slick little fantasy for kids too scared to follow Brian’s lead, but who cares. It’s a fantasy only those young enough not to be sucked in and made cynical by the adult world can understand.
Brian is clearly being provocative when he starts simpering about "you’re the one whose shower is always golden" on the surprisingly tearful, posthedonism comedown song "Commercial for Levi." As my mother would say, "It’s just not necessary!" Of course it is. Where would rock be without its fake controversy? Tonight, the song is stark and chilling. Brian divests himself of guitar as he draws out every last "Please don’t die" plea to an ex-girlfriend. The morbid underside of goth made flesh.
Josephine Wiggs of the Breeders once told me she wanted to be Diana Rigg of The Avengers when she was young, even though she was aware that she only ever saw the actress when she was acting cool. "Wouldn’t it be great to exist only in those half-hour-long, superficial situations?" she asked. That’s what rock music as practiced by the New Order-loving Placebo does: provides as escape route in to another world where everyone can be Buffy or Marilyn Manson or Brian Molko’s tight t-shirt for 90 minutes. Where everyone can pretend they enjoy a little gender confusion (the hard techno of "Taste in Men"), drug overkill ("Haemoglobin") and soulful pretentiousness ("Blue American").
Once Placebo would rock out, pretend they were Nine Inch Nails or someone–now, they understand where their strengths lie, in the strange alliance of Molko’s teasing sexuality and his pretensions to be a serious artist. So every song has been stripped back until it’s now a turbulent landfill of Steve Hewitt’s supercharged drumming and lanky bassist Stefan Olsdal’s Peter Hook derivatives. (Oldsal tonight sports a brand new Mohican, the beast.) Molko often doesn’t even bother strumming his guitar, instead making sure the words are drawn out, mysterious, up close and bewildering.
Placebo are now fully gothic, and this is how it should be. Americans may think of them as Mini-Me versions of Scary Real Grownups like Mr. Manson and Mr. Reznor, but really we’re talking entirely different traditions of music. It’s possible to be petulant in the UK, the country is small enough.
Rock music is juvenile, derivative, confusing, sexy. It’s not supposed to provide answers, only supply more questions. Life is nothing without some glamour, a little mystery. Rock would be much the poorer without Placebo.
Everett True
