Francesco Guccini has died; he was 86

This morning in Pavana, surrounded by the love of his wife Raffaella, his daughter Teresa and his family, Francesco Guccini passed away at the age of 86. The singer-songwriter’s family announced the news, emphasising that “in accordance with his wishes, the funeral will take place in the coming days and will be a strictly private affair”. The family, “whilst asking that this time of grief be observed in the strictest privacy, would like to thank all those who will join them in their mourning with affection, discretion and respect. To allow those who loved him to remember and bid him farewell, a memorial service will be organised in September”.

In 2019, Il Foglio interviewed him at his home in Pavana. In this article by Pietro Vietti, the singer-songwriter laughed at his advancing age and teased himself when someone called him ‘maestro’: “Maestro, my foot! I was a supply teacher at a primary school for three days; the first question they asked me was ‘why are a thousand lire worth a thousand lire?’ And to explain it, I started with sheep,” he recounted, proud of the vegetables in his vegetable patch, “of which, however, I’m merely the artistic director”. In December 2022, Guia Soncini interviewed him for Review, Il Foglio’s magazine, whilst having lunch with him at a trattoria. It was a meeting of internal rhymes, affection and other nonsense. “My generation was used to contributing as soon as we had a job: out of twenty thousand lire, I’d give ten thousand to the household,” said Guccini. “I’m no longer able to write my own songs, and besides, I’m not a lyricist. A songwriter – I don’t want to say ‘poet’ because that’s too grand a word.” There were many memories of the past: “Ever since I was a lad, I’d dream of becoming a writer when I grew up. I worked as a journalist for a couple of years because I dreamt of being the sort of journalist who goes on to write a novel. There was a certain Cavicchioli, I think, a journalist who’d written a book, I voli del tacchino: I was mortally envious. Then there was a poet I met in Bologna who published an experimental novel. There too, I saw it in the shop window: I was mortally envious.” 

“I love making up and telling stories, listening and being listened to: if I hadn’t become a singer-songwriter, I would have chosen the profession – not an easy one, but a fascinating one – of a literature teacher, which I actually did for a while, years ago, in Pennsylvania, though it was only for one month a year,” the singer-songwriter told Giuseppe Fantasia, praising his life in the provinces. Will there ever be a better place for him than Pavana? “I’ll tell you honestly: there isn’t.”