After seeing back-to-back heavyweights – Metallica, Tool and Opeth – play in Auckland recently, a realisation hit me: some of these bands may never return. For Boomers and Gen Xers, it’s the looming final encore for the soundtrack of our youth. What happens when the last original member steps off the bus?
The first fall-back is here already: tribute acts, sometimes better rehearsed than the bands they mimic. Foreigner will tour next year, likely without a single founding member – propped up by Lynyrd Skynyrd, which has maybe two originals left. Pink Floyd experiences, Fleetwood Mac shows, Eagles tributes, they’ll all promise “note-perfect recreations,” as if classic albums are heritage houses to be painstakingly rebuilt by cover bands.
It’s easier since bands like Floyd have sold their rights for hundreds of millions – Sony now owns the group’s recordings, its name and the members’ likenesses, paving the way for the “continuation band” era: zero originals, just a famous logo, a couple of ancient roadies and an IP lawyer. Within years, you could see “The Rolling Stones™ – proudly carrying the torch since 2031 (original Stones lineup ended 2028).” Or “Coldplay: IP Portfolio”, brought to you by the world’s big banks. It’ll be like watching the All Blacks in 2080 – same jersey, same anthem, utterly new faces, yet muscle memory asks you to cheer.
It gets weirder – and a lot more futuristic – from there. London’s ABBA Voyage already delivers concerts where digitised “ABBAtars,” de-aged and animated, perform alongside a live band and laser-lit spectacle. The original band isn’t present, but the emotional punch (and ticket revenues) are real.
This is just 1.0. Give it five years and you’ll watch fully immersive, volumetric concerts, allowing you to -virtually – stand next to a 1973 David Bowie on stage.
Generative AI could create “new” hits, endless encores, or even whole new albums. Like a musical sourdough starter, the act goes on forever.
For record labels and promoters, it’s a dream: no sick days, no infighting, no private jets. Tour burnout replaced by eternally compliant holograms – always ready, always lucrative.
The experience? The notes are flawless, sound crystal clear, the visuals dazzling. Yet it feels a little like watching your favourite band perform in a shopping mall through plate glass. The risk is that concerts morph into elaborate theme park rides. VIP nostalgia packages could bundle virtual reality headsets and rare non-fungible tokens (NFTs) of long-forgotten B-sides.
Envision a concert where the encore isn’t scripted but live-voted by fans – the deep-cuts, the extended jams, the jarring tempo changes. Participatory gigs beat pre-baked experiences every time, no matter how immaculate the tech polish.
If tech is to replace our ageing rock gods, some boundaries are essential. Holograms? Fine. But live bands, back-up singers, the chance for train wrecks – these are what make concerts unpredictable, shared human experiences.
We should draw a line at grave robbery. Artists should be able to set hard rules in their wills about how long their likeness can be used, whether AI can generate “new” material, and what kind of shows are allowed. If the dead can’t say no, the living should respect “no” in advance.
Done well, technology and legacy shows could complement – not replace – chaotic, sweaty, in-the-moment gigs by emerging artists. By all means, buy a ticket to the tribute. But consider also seeing that scruffy bunch playing originals at your local bar this weekend. Let the past inspire; don’t let it crowd out the new.
