“Centuries will fall, gods and goddesses will fall, towers will fall, kingdoms will fall and what will remain of men and ideas, dust and signs…” sang Guccini in Shomèr ma mi-llailah, written in ’83 on a verse from the prophet Isaiah and then long forgotten. “An anonymous hand brought that phrase back even on a wall in Sarajevo, adding underneath the signature ‘Francesco Guccini, poet’… what a shame” he joked with barely concealed pride, well aware that writings like these have filled our cities for decades. “Our songs may not have made revolutions, but his certainly made poetry” assures Roberto Vecchioni warmly, proudly contradicting his friend and that verse from L’avvelenata in which he shed the clothes of a militant singer-songwriter. “Francesco was an enchanter, a melancholic, in some way a twilight poet, indeed decadent. Today everyone highlights his literary stature, but yesterday they didn’t sing his songs, preferring sillier words, a lost cause.” A beautiful harmony that between the Maestrone and the Professor, who dedicated more than one song to him and wanted to give his name to his firstborn Francesca.
Long live Francesco! …and to hell with everything else
Roberto, what is your first memory?
“If you had the chance to meet him, you couldn’t let it slip away. He was one of those who kept you glued with words: a true storyteller, a born narrator, a troubadour in the best sense of the word. I remember him a bit selfish, he always wanted to speak and loved being the center of attention, but he was also a very sweet person, literally incapable of being without friends. And then he had that writing… With his passing we are all a little more alone, even if probably half of Italy, and not just for age reasons, won’t worry too much about it.”
How did you meet?
“During the first edition of the Premio Tenco, in 1974, in front of two bottles of whisky: as good as the songs we talked about and the dreams we had. Even though I had already listened to him, a couple of years earlier, in a kind of hangar. I still remember that at the start of La locomotiva, an impressive forest of clenched fists rose in front of him.”
Those nights, high in alcohol, following the Tenco evenings.
“The craziest was probably one where we invented an unlikely repertoire of Chechen songs: I struggled with the language and he, on the guitar, with the melodies. Then, doubled over with laughter, we swapped roles. Even on the Ariston stage, always during the Tenco, we shared very beautiful moments, like that night in ’89 when Francesco took my Luci a San Siro and then we shared Gli amici, dedicating it to Renzo ‘Bigi’ Barbieri, a great animator of the Club who had passed away some time before.”
Your last meeting?
“Two years ago, on Rai3, both guests of Giletti on Lo stato delle cose where, among other things, I sang his Autogrill.”
Guccini did not like political labels.
“And rightly so, even though he had reached success thanks to that extraordinary song about the anarchist on the locomotive launched like a bomb against injustice. He was close to the left, initially socialist, but then the socialists had stopped being such. Anyway, he didn’t like to talk about politics, even though everyone asked him to.”
He didn’t like to talk about politics, even though everyone asked him to
Eight years ago, to record together Ti insegnerò a volare (Alex), dedicated to Zanardi, he went to find him in Pavana.
“He no longer sang, he couldn’t play the guitar and what he missed most was reading. But for me he took up the microphone again. To convince him it was enough to bring the equipment to Pavana, moving was hard for him.”
For me he took up the microphone again. To convince him it was enough to bring the equipment to Pavana
In Bologna his artistic home, the Osteria delle Dame, is preparing to reopen its doors as a song museum.
“That of the taverns outside the gates is his page, we were only guests of that space-time reality in which so much humanity passed along with artists like Dalla, Conte, De André or Bertoli.”
And now?
“Quoting him, I would say: Long live Francesco! …and to hell with everything else.”
