I can see it now: Hologram Elvis thin, commanding, perpetually youthful descending on a concert stage for a world tour that would surpass anything he ever embarked on in real life.

Thank you, thank you veramuch. Doughnuts? Not for me, thanks.

And Michael Jackson, healthy at last, running through his massive catalogue of hits with an energy and resolve he could never muster in the sad years before his death no Propofol required.

Ditto for Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison and a raft of other expired-before-their-time pop stars for whom the demands of fame trounced their natural talent.

Make yourselves at home, dudes theres plenty of heroin and booze in the green room. Oh wait, youre not real.

Welcome to the future, evidenced by the Christ-like resurrection of dead rapper Tupac Shakur as a two-dimensional, yet fully functional hologram at last months Coachella festival in California, the latest bid by the music industry to save itself from a case of built-in obsolescence.

Its a sad story, as original stadium bands like the Beach Boys and Rolling Stones limp along with fading resolve Its our 50th anniversary (cough cough)while the auto-tuned, lipsyncing acts of today would be lucky to fill a phone booth.

The concert industry is dying, baby, and except for warm weather festivals like Coachella and Bonnaroo noncorporate extravaganzas that span generations no one holds much hope for the future of live performances on an epic scale.

Music, once the vanguard of popular culture, has splintered damn you, internet into a thousand tiny niches at the exact moment rock has indulged in an endless retro loop, making bands with the clout to fill big stadiums few and far between.

The good news is, with the invention of the hologram, it no longer matters, because the glory days can continue forever, unburdened by egos, sickness, squandered talent, even death.

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Popsmacked!: Pop’s brave new world of immortality