Can you feel it the way I do?

I had read a lot about ABBA Voyage before I went, much of it sounding like hyperbole. Could some souped-up holograms really be worth all the fuss? Short answer: yes.

Long answer: the cost and scale of ABBA Voyage is the start, but by no means the end, of the mind-boggling-ness of the whole enterprise. The four septuagenarians spent five weeks performing in motion-capture suits in front of hundreds of cameras, recording every minute detail of their movements – supplemented by the same process undertaken by more sprightly lookalikes. Thousands of technicians from George Lucas's Industrial Light & Magic Company then rendered the data into de-aged avatars (ABBAtars, if you will). This is now a relatively familiar process in film making, if not other parts of the entertainment industry.

It's easy to forget we're clapping and cheering life-sized images on a 65-million pixel screen.

The real alchemy is in how this massive digital exercise has been turned into something which feels real. And it's the interplay between reality and digital where the magic happens. Everything in the run-up to the performance is guaranteed to trigger memories of previous gigs: the queues at security, at the bar, in the loos; the smell of hot dogs and beer; everyone dressed up for a night out. Although it's all more ordered and Scandinavian than we Brits are used to, and is remarkably missing any corporate sponsorship. We are allowed into the purpose-built arena located in the Olympic Park in London, which has a capacity of 3,000, and is largely timber-built and designed to be 'flat packed' and relocated at the end of the London run. It's an impressive Goldilocks-sized space – not too big, not too small. We have been primed to expect a gig.

And then the lights dim, and it starts. ABBA rise up from trapdoors underneath the stage (no they don't). ABBA start singing and playing their instruments (that was years ago). The 10-piece band on stage are backing them (that is happening). The first five minutes are spent turning to the people you've come with, mouthing variations of 'I can't believe it' and 'they look so real!'. Two massive screens on either side of the stage give us 'close ups' and – based on our previous experience – the sense that what's happening in the middle is real. If the close-ups occasionally have a slightly glassy look – for some reason, Agnetha seems slightly less real than Anni-Frid – it's soon forgotten. Every time our attention turns back to the life-sized ABBAs, our brains can't help making them human. Not surprising, considering our innate tendency to see faces in the most unlikely, non-human objects.

Immersion is the name of the game (sorry). The cleverest trick is the banning of filming – which I last experienced when I saw Kate Bush in 2014. Ostensibly to keep details a secret, it was a creative decision to ensure the audience stay in the moment. This, combined with the not-enormous size of the venue and a succession of danceable crowd pleasers where we know all the words, quickly bonds us a group and creates a party atmosphere. It's easy to forget we're clapping and cheering life-sized images on a 65-million pixel screen.

ABBA last played in the UK in 1979. This show, already extended to next summer, is likely to run and run. It feels like the start of a new type of entertainment, although its future is hard to predict and will only be available to creatives with very deep pockets. It goes without saying that you must go and see it if you're an ABBA fan – and if you have any interest in music or the new frontiers of technology, you should take a chance (again: sorry).