What, exactly, is the use of a “greatest hits” album in 2019? The full catalogs of almost every artist popular enough to merit such a collection are available through any streaming service, organized by algorithms, and easily sorted by play count, which means labels have little reason to waste time and energy on a task the machines have already mastered. Even when the indie rock band Spoon released a greatest hits record earlier this year, the band acknowledged that its fondness for the form outweighed what was a near-certain losing proposition businesswise.
That fondness exists because of the real power greatest hits albums once had: They threw open doors for curious new listeners, solidified artists’ place in the canon, and transformed reputations that had fallen into disrepair. In his 2016 eulogy for greatest hits, anthologies, and other, similar reissues, Stephen Thomas Erlewine noted that Bob Marley could have languished in relative obscurity were it not for the release of Legend in 1984. “By focusing on the hits, they crystallize the essence of each star,” wrote Erlewine, touching on compilations of work by Elton John, Billy Joel, and Tom Petty. “Over time, those greatest hits albums—purchased as a package, repeated incessantly on the radio—formalized each act’s conventionally-accepted canon and, in turn, cemented their enduring public personas.”
If the ideal greatest hits collection captures the fundamental truth about an artist, stitches them into an enduring place in our cultural fabric, and sells enough copies to fund the purchase of a minor island, then ABBA Gold—a 79-minute buffet of schlocky ballads, elegant pop delicacies, and disco heat rocks—is the definitive example of the format. The 1992 compilation rounded up all of the Swedish pop band’s international smashes into a refined package with surprising emotional range. It capitalized on a simmering, subcultural interest in ABBA’s work and sparked a full-blown revival, one that culminated in Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan belting and grunting their way through “S.O.S.” in the movie version of Mamma Mia! And it became one of the best-selling albums of all time, with copies continuing to trickle out of stores in shocking numbers to this day. Because of Gold, ABBA has become an integral part of the world around us, their music floating through common spaces around the world like a music fan’s lingua franca; without it, the band might have remained a curio, the kind of half-forgotten treasure you have to seek out rather than stumble upon.
Little more than a decade separated Gold’s release from the unceremonious end of the band’s recording career. After a delirious rise to global superstardom in the second half of the ’70s, ABBA was finally starting to lose steam. Its two constituent couples—Björn Ulvaeus and Agnetha Faltskog, and Benny Andersson and Frida Lyngstad—were either separated or divorced by the release of their final album, The Visitors, in 1981. And while all four members continued working together with an impressive level of professionalism, the fact remained that Ulvaeus and Andersson were writing music and lyrics, including post-breakup ballads and wounded domestic dramas, for their ex-wives to sing.