History teachers have reason to be grateful to the winners of the 1974 Eurovision Song Contest, who declared that at Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. But what did they mean by the next line: "And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way"? A quarter of a century later, it remains a mystery, as does the rest of that first verse: "The history book on the shelf/ Is always repeating itself." Yet Waterloo is still loved and sung wherever the hour grows late and too much beer has been drunk. Its creators, Abba, also grow in stature every year. Despite having split up in 1981, the Swedish foursome's stock has risen, riding out every change in musical fashion. In the 1990s alone they've inspired a film (Muriel's Wedding), the title of a TV show (Knowing Me, Knowing You) and a band (Steps, who describe themselves as "Abba on speed").
April 6th is the 25th anniversary of their Eurovision victory in Brighton, and, needless to say, the marketing opportunities have not gone unnoticed. Several shrill teen acts have recorded a tribute EP called Thank Abba For The Music, while those with a spare £75 can spend it on a new box set of all 28 of their singles. Then there's the musical Mamma Mia, which opens in the West End on anniversary night. Though not actually about the band, it features 27 of their songs and is co-produced by Bjorn Ulvaeus, better known as the one without the beard (though he has since acquired one, making it impossible to tell him apart from Benny Andersson). It's his first Abba activity in nearly 20 years. He has resisted regular offers of "more money than you'd believe" to reform the group, sagely stating: "Our legacy is best served by not reforming."
It's easy to understand the enduring interest; Abba lend themselves to so many interpretations. Depending on one's view, Bjorn, Benny, Agnetha Faltskog and Frida Lyngstad (who's Norwegian by birth, scandalously enough) are either pop geniuses or the biggest sartorial offenders of the 1970s. Bjorn offers his apologies for the latter. "At Eurovision I wore a black jacket with pearls and satin trousers tucked into silver boots, and I looked like a fat Christmas tree. But that was tasteful compared to what was to come," he sighs, looking sincerely regretful. "One of my favourite outfits was a sequinned blue leotard and cape."
Although Abba's dress sense - the velveteen knickerbockers, the clashing colours - was indeed awful, it's also part of their allure now. But for Ulvaeus, now 53 and decked out in muted greys and blacks that match the decor in his Covent Garden hotel, it's a painful memory: "The 1970s were the epitome of bad taste and had no redeeming features."
No redeeming features? What about the joy produced by Agnetha's shiny blue culottes? The sense of being struck dumb by the white surgical costumes on the cover of Arrival, the fourth of their nine albums? He shrugs, unimpressed. "If we ever reformed, I'd never wear what we wore. I'd get in a designer," he pronounces in a mid-Atlantic accent much removed from the old Swedish lilt.
He's less dazzled by his accomplishments than the people who bought 350 million of his records. For instance, he has never seen any of the many Abba tribute bands, not even highly successful Australians Bjorn Again, who play HQ, Hall of Fame, in Middle Abbey Street, Dublin on June 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th. Nor does he listen to his own records. He was surprised when the Brit Awards staged a tribute medley last month.
"I was touched by it. When they sang the last line, `Thank you, Abba, for the music', I almost believed we were responsible for some lasting music." He must be aware that Abba records are still played everywhere from gay discos to shopping malls. "Oh, yes, I'm aware," he agrees, delicately supping the mushroom soup he's ordered for breakfast (doubtless a Swedish thing). "I'm reminded of it constantly, and it's amazing and unbelievable. People say to me in the street, `Thank you for all that wonderful music,' and they quote songs to me. It happens every day. I just don't think about it much, because it would drive you crazy." Well, knowing me, knowing you, it's the best we can do, eh? He looks blank. One of your songs, I tell him.
"If you asked me to sing a lyric, I couldn't. I don't know them well." That's not as surprising as it sounds. Bjorn may have written the lyrics, and collaborated with Benny on the melodies, but it was their wives, Agnetha and Frida, who sang them. The lyrics only came "after the music had revealed itself. Then I'd get a definite image in my mind. I wrote them as little stories, such as Fernando, which was about two old freedom-fighters from the war between Texas and Mexico. I was lying outside one summer night, looking at the stars, and it came to me."
"There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando" - you can't help it, you quote to him automatically.
"That's what I mean. People do that all the time," he says, beard twitching gnomeishly.
If his writing had a flaw, it was that it tended to be fictitious, in the Fernando manner. Did he ever write from the heart? He certainly had enough inspiration. Not only were Abba married to each other, but both couples split up at the same time, in the late 1970s. "The songs were from the heart, definitely," he asserts. "I wrote about two divorces in The Winner Takes It All and Knowing Me, Knowing You. Not necessarily our divorces, but I always wrote what I felt. It was hard to write in English at first, and I had to sit with the dictionary, so when I started writing seriously I made myself read everything in English, and that helped me express myself."
Despite this, he sees his songs, nine of which reached No 1, as individual entities rather than as a composite body of work. This, he says, is why he had never considered the possibility of turning them into a musical. The idea for the all-singing, all-dancing Mamma Mia came not from him but from Judy Craymer, who produced the Ulvaeus/Andersson stage show, Chess, in 1986.
"I always thought there was tremendous potential in the songs," she enthuses. "They have great emotional tension, and each one has a subtext. Like, in one scene two characters are going at each other hammer and tongs, and the next they're singing SOS - and we know what that means." What does it mean? "I just mean that this isn't just a jolly knees-up, though it is a fun, funky show."
The story was written by Catherine Johnson, whose previous credits include the wonderful Shang-a-Lang, a play about three middle-aged women at a Bay City Rollers reunion. Mamma Mia is all about a fortysomething mother and her daughter on the eve of the latter's wedding. The daughter has grown up without knowing who her father is until she reads her mother's diary and discovers there are three potential dads. Being something of a minx, she invites them all to her wedding. Much confusion and Abba songs ensue. Mamma mia, indeed.
Bjorn is excited by it all but not overawed. In his own wry way, he has become used to iconhood. When you say it's been a thrill to meet him, he replies: "People always tell me that."