Before we go any further, skip to 0:50 in the video below. Pay attention to the pre-chorus. Your ears will probably want the chord sequence to move on long before ABBA let it. That’s exactly the point.
I play in an indie rock band called Shenanigans.
We’re the sort of band that plays Radiohead, Nirvana, The Cure, The Cult, The Cardigans and the occasional song that makes people look thoughtful while staring at their shoes.
So when I announced that we needed to learn Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA, the rest of the band looked at me as though I’d suggested we finish the night with The Wheels on the Bus.
“Trust me,” I said.
Now, if your knowledge of this song extends no further than “that’s the one everyone dances to at weddings,” I encourage you to listen again.
Underneath all the sparkling synths is an absolutely ferocious rock song.
But that’s not even the clever bit.
The clever bit is the pre-chorus.
Musicians love talking about “tension and release” because it makes us sound clever. Really, it’s just the musical equivalent of stretching an elastic band. Pull it back… pull it back a bit more… then let go.
ABBA are masters of this.
The pre-chorus lands on G minor and your brain immediately says, “Lovely. Time to resolve now.”
ABBA reply, “No.”
They just sit there.
Your ears get uncomfortable.
“Now?” they ask.
“No.”
“Surely now?”
“Still no.”
Then, just when you think relief has finally arrived…
…they go somewhere else first.
Only then do they finally resolve the whole thing, and the chorus explodes. That’s the moment half the room starts dancing, including people who, thirty seconds earlier, were insisting they “don’t really dance.”
While we were learning it, I noticed something kinda fascinating.
Our bass player physically couldn’t stop himself from moving away from that G minor too early.
Every rehearsal.
It wasn’t because he hadn’t learned the song. His hands just wanted to resolve the tension. I found myself watching him more than listening to him because you could actually see the effect the music was having on his body.
That’s how powerful that little moment is.
Which brings me to content.
Most people create content like this:
Here’s the answer.
The end.
Unfortunately, that’s about as compelling as reading the warranty for your toaster.
The best content does what ABBA does.
It creates a question.
It introduces a mystery.
It delays the payoff.
It lets curiosity build just a little longer before finally delivering the answer.
Every great film does this.
Every great novel does this.
The best YouTube videos do this.
The best blog posts do this.
Even this article, I hope, has done it.
So the next time you’re writing a blog post, recording a video or telling a story, ask yourself one question.
Where’s your G minor spot?
Where’s the moment where your audience desperately wants the answer… but you hold them there just a little longer?
Because sometimes the difference between content people forget and content people share is simply knowing when not to resolve the chord.
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