Of Tomorrow's Melodies (1965)

                                    

                                          
1965
Sweden


***Raven Ciaran


Grandma Arntine's health had taken a turn for the worse, and her fragile condition kept her from attending Frida's shows. I missed the comforting presence of Grandma in the audience, her quiet but steady support. Though she tried to remain strong for Frida, it was clear that her energy was waning. Frida never let it show on stage, but I knew how much it weighed on her.


Next year, Frida was set to participate in a national competition, one that would expose her talent to a much wider audience. She would appear on national television, her voice carried into homes across Sweden. It was a significant step for her career, and I could see the excitement building in her every day. Many talent agencies would soon be knocking on her door, but her current agency had already lined up a contract, eager to lock her into a long-term deal.

I knew that her current agency wasn't the best fit for her. There were bigger names, better opportunities that could catapult her career to the heights she deserved. But I also knew something else, something more critical. If Frida's course was altered now, the possibility of her meeting Benny would be jeopardized, and ABBA—the legendary band that would shape the future of music—might never be born.

And so, I held back, watching quietly from the sidelines as her journey unfolded. It wasn't easy, knowing what the future held and being unable to intervene. But I had to be patient. Frida's destiny was intertwined with the lives of others, and I couldn't risk unraveling it.

Over time, Sweden had become more of a home to me than the high society life I had known in London. I was twelve now, growing up in a world that seemed both foreign and familiar at the same time. I had learned to adapt, to blend in, though the knowledge of the future always lingered at the back of my mind.

Frida brought me to the studio for the recording of her debut song, an experience I had long been curious about. The moment we walked in, my heart sank. I knew this song. I had heard it before, and I knew how it would perform. It wouldn't chart. No matter how beautifully Frida sang, the song itself lacked the spark that would captivate an audience.

I winced inwardly as I listened to her recording the track. Every fiber of my being wanted to tell her what was wrong, to suggest changes, to introduce something from the 21st century that would truly showcase her voice. But I held back. It wasn't my place, and changing the course of Frida's career could have unintended consequences.

My current brain functioned like a Google database where I could easily access anything about her life, her songs, her future successes. But the frustration of knowing that this debut track wouldn't be the one to make her famous gnawed at me. I could see the talent producers nodding approvingly, completely oblivious to the fact that they were missing the mark.

"If I had my way," I thought, "I'd introduce music from the future, songs with the flair, drama, and artistry of the modern era." Music had evolved so much by 2024—bold, innovative, and filled with layers of emotion. But this was '60s, and the rules were different. Frida's debut had to fit the mold of the time, even if I knew it wasn't her true potential.

After the recording session, Frida looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for my approval. I forced a smile, trying to mask my disappointment.