ABBA should have been the squarest thing in the seventies pop universe: four toothpaste ads from Sweden singing gleamingly cheerful or earnestly distraught songs tailored for the top ten. Yet even the coolest of the cool wouldn't deny the quality of Benny Anderson and Björn Ulvaeus's songs and production or the flawless and emotive harmonies of Agnetha Fältskog and Anni-Frid Lyngstad. Elvis and the Attractions couldn't stop listening to them on the tour bus and consciously paid tribute to their style on songs such as "Oliver's Army". Pete Townshend praised their songcraft. A decade later, Nirvana not only made ABBA their own tour bus soundtrack, but also actually took an ABBA cover band on tour with them. Starstruck fandom or smirking irony? It was the nineties, so who could tell the difference?
And really, who could blame all those guys for sincerely loving ABBA. They delivered the goods time and again whether they were rolling out legit poignant and imaginative ballads like "Fernando" and "The Winner Takes It All", high-energy pop like "Dancing Queen" and "Take a Chance on Me", or borderline glam rockers like "Waterloo" and "Does Your Mother Know?" (easily their two best songs as far as I'm concerned). ABBA may have sat side by side with limp noodles like The Carpenters and Captain & Tennille on top 40 radio, but they exuded a sheer power that edged them more toward the realm of Blondie, or at least Wings. And ABBA's bizarre, satin, Rocket Man-lite stage gear gave them a true whiff of weirdness you didn't get from the staid pop acts of their time. Yes, they could get a touch too corny for comfort at times with things like "One of Us" or "Thank You for the Music", but more often than a lot of pop acts of their day, ABBA rocked.
In 1992, Polygram gathered nineteen of ABBA's smashes on a single CD titled ABBA Gold. Not surprisingly, it became ABBA's biggest seller ten years after they broke up, a record-breaking chart presence in the UK top 100, and the ideal way to take in all those hit singles that remain the quartet's main appeal. Although the compilation was very specifically designed for the new CD age, coming in at a digitally ideal 77 minutes, it actually was released on double vinyl thirty years ago, though not in the US. It has been released on vinyl stateside several times during the current vinyl revival, and it is once again being reissued for its thirtieth anniversary.
The double gold-colored vinyl has well balanced bass--nice and clear but never overwhelming ( a pet peeve of mine when it comes to a lot of new vinyl releases). The high end is a bit too hot with very slight distortion. The vinyl itself could be flatter and there is a faint background grind perceptible between tracks, but it sounds good overall with plenty of detail.