Farewell to Francesco Guccini, a cultured man from a bygone era who will be missed by everyone

I have never encountered anyone who was not familiar with a Guccini song. I have never encountered anyone, regardless of their political persuasion, who did not own a Guccini album. Strange. I have attended several concerts and the audience appeared predominantly left-wing. It’s strange that Matteo Salvini claimed he used to play “La Locomotiva” at the age of 16, even though there’s no evidence of this; Luigi Paragone, on the other hand, certainly did play Guccini’s songs. When asked why Guccini (at least in my own personal survey), even the younger respondents cited “L’Avvelenata” – the first rap song, but also a trap track (he told the Corriere: “I detest L’Avvelenata. It’s just a little ditty. I don’t understand why it’s been so successful”), whilst others cited Cirano, because sooner or later we all end up hating those dandies. Some mentioned Canzone quasi d’amore (who writes such moving songs these days?). I like him because he was from a bygone era yet ahead of his time. Not so much for the music (his finest album remains the live recording from Via Emilia al West, above all thanks to the contribution of excellent musicians capable of breathing new life into his music: just listen to the rhythm Ellade Bandini brings to ‘La Locomotiva’, or the arpeggio Juan Carlos ‘Flaco’ Biondini invents for ‘Canzone quasi d’amore’). He was a man of a bygone era from an emotional point of view. A bit like my father and many of my relatives. Guccini’s father never hugged him. An experience common to the older generations: “My father never hugged me in his whole life. Every now and then on the telly I see people complaining: ‘I had an unloving family; as a child I was given few presents…’”. I never received any presents. I never celebrated my birthday. Woe betide me if I left anything on my plate: my dad had been in a concentration camp; food was sacred’. Guccini, like so many others (such as my father) born before the war, tried to free himself from this heavy baggage. First and foremost through culture. Guccini was highly cultured. He was keen to draw this distinction between cultured and less cultured songs. And he was right to do so. It’s a distinction that drew a line between a missed embrace and a probable collective embrace, because when culture works, that’s what it does: it embraces pretty much everyone. To defend his work, he stirred up a controversy over Umberto Tozzi’s song ‘Gloria’ and argued that behind ‘Gloria’ there isn’t “a story behind it, the books. ‘There’s a body of work. A whole different world that isn’t behind “Gloria”. Even though it’s a lovely song, a charming song.’ Few people (in my own survey) remember the song about the Portuguese girl. Which, incredibly, was released in 1972 yet speaks of today. We are the ones locked away in so many cells, competing to see who can shout the loudest, so as not to admit that stars and death are frightening. In his ballads, Guccini has never failed to speak to us of doubt; culture ought to be a tool for sceptical inquiry (which would also require a method of verification). And few have finally grasped the existentialist doubt: the vice that will kill us will not be smoking or drinking but living, living and living yet again. If we harboured this doubt, we would all embrace one another more readily; in the meantime, his songs are there for us.