The woman who talked the Abba duo into putting the musical on stage 25 years ago this weekend is still ‘having the time of her life’, with a third Abba film possibly in the works

Judy Craymer does a top-notch impression of Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson. Its chief merit is that it is a combination of both Abba stars. Craymer is telling how, each time she and her two business partners consider a new project, they’re initially wary. “Bjorn and Benny are like ‘I dunno, a third film, really?’” she says, deepening her voice and adding a Swedish lilt. “Our partnership has always been an element of their caution and my optimism.”

It is 25 years this weekend since the curtain went up on Mamma Mia! , the West End musical based on Abba. It has since toured the world and spawned two hit films.

Fifty years since Abba won with Waterloo, fans are paying tribute to a pop classic. Its status is a far cry from its origins in a celebration of weedy pop and dodgy lyrics – and, whisper it, ‘nul points’ from Britain

Fifty years on, the footage of Abba performing Waterloo at the 1974 Eurovision song contest is very familiar indeed: the conductor dressed as Napoleon, Agnetha’s blue satin knickerbockers, Björn’s star-shaped guitar. It’s been endlessly repeated on TV shows and documentaries: the moment that unexpectedly launched the career of one of the biggest bands of all time, pop history in the making. But it’s rarely, if ever, shown in context. Perhaps Abba’s success is so sui generis – Sweden had never produced an internationally successful pop artist before, and it’s never produced one anything like as successful since – that context seems besides the point. But this weekend, BBC Four is screening the entire 1974 grand final in full.

Immediately, the setting plunges you back into what feels like a very distant past indeed. Here is Eurovision from a time before anyone watched it for camp value – you can’t imagine any gay bar in 1974 clearing its schedules to screen this; a Eurovision that takes itself rather seriously, a brief appearance by the Wombles notwithstanding. It’s Eurovision that predates even Terry Wogan’s presence: in 1974, his famously sardonic remarks were still confined to radio coverage of the event. Viewers had to make do with sports commentator David Vine , ever-ready with a useful pen-portrait of the competing nations – “Norway! The place where they drink aquavit and do marvellous ski-jumping!” – and blessed with the ability to talk up the various artists in a way that makes you lose the will to live before they’ve even taken the stage: “Made his debut in his parents’ circus … used to do impressions of Maurice Chevalier,” he offers of Monaco’s Romuald.

​Universal’s decision to remove its artists from ​T​ikTok ​h​as destabilised both companies – and lays bare how record labels have become reliant on random virality

Earlier this month, the music industry was hit with its biggest shake-up in years when Universal Music Group announced that it would be pulling the entirety of its catalogue – which covers everyone from K-pop stars BTS to Taylor Swift and legacy acts such as Abba – from TikTok .

In an open letter, UMG said the decision was made in protest at the platform’s low compensation rates, lack of protections around AI deepfakes and low safety standards for TikTok users. Universal also alleged that TikTok tried to “intimidate” the label by “selectively removing the music of … our developing artists, while keeping on the platform our audience-driving global stars”. TikTok’s brief response decried UMG’s “false narrative and rhetoric”.