Zara Larsson – AmazeVR review: a dance between camera and performer

AmazeVR’s Zara Larsson concert got me thinking about how far things have come since I first watched a musician belting out a song in virtual reality. That was a 360 video back in 2015, which captured Paul McCartney in a stadium performing Live and Let Die. It couldn’t have been simpler: just a single shot, with the camera in a fixed position between the crowd and the performers, as if uncertain whose perspective to frame it from. This reflected an ethos shared by many filmmakers dabbling in VR at the time: just plonk a 360 camera down, they thought, and hey presto—the magic of the new medium will somehow make the exprience interesting.

Boy oh boy, things are different in Larsson’s VR spectacle, which not just films the Swedish star but engages in a dance with her: a lascivious to-and-fro in which both the subject and the camera are constantly moving—seductively drawing us in and nudging us away. There’s a sense the very form and structure of the experience is performative. We’re a mostly disembodied presence in this world, with no agency or input beyond some occasional gimmicky abilities, such as being able to summon sparkly animation from our hands. But it sure feels like we’re with her, intimately sharing her space. One time I found myself so close to the come-hither performer I literally blushed.

Productions like this point to a fascinating future for virtual reality concerts, predicated on being both here and there: here in our homes with the performer, evoking a new kind of pseudo intimacy, and also somewhere else—among the stars maybe, or dancing in a volcano crater, or floating on a lily pond.

Like other AmazeVR concerts, such as Megan Stallion’s, Larsson’s experience begins with us journeying into her space, exploiting the simple pleasure of arriving somewhere. That somewhere is a circular stage where she’s lying on the floor, singing with her back to the ground, before rising and belting out “I want your love to start a fire” (the song is called End of Time) as the lights go up and down.

Larsson approaches us, pulls away, then approaches and pulls away again, while the camera does a similar thing, working in tandem. In the background are sprigs of visual elements to zhuzh things up, including glittering stars, particle-like circular shapes and bursts of fire. When the song ends Larsson introduces herself and says “right now it’s all about me and you. Are you ready to have a good time?”

Soon into the next track, Lush Life, in which she reflects on crushes and professes to “live my day as if it was the last,” the performer is joined by two dancers, though there’s never any doubt who’s show this is. Particularly when Larsson appears during the interval in a celestial-like blue and white environment, almost looking like she’s standing on water, befitting the underlying inference that this woman can do anything—including defying the laws of physics and gravity. I didn’t care for the cheesy speech she makes, which culminates with her saying “let’s keep growing together” (puh-lease). And her music certainly isn’t my cup of tea. Nevertheless, I had a hoot with this concert and have returned to it a couple of times.

The grand finale is a catchy earworm called Symphony, which got into my head good and proper. When Larsson sings “I just wanna be part of your symphony!” we’re hoisted from the ground and lifted into the air, rising towards the heavens. It’s another example of a dynamic interplay between camera and performer. This interplay keeps us, her, and the experience itself moving along at a good speed.