Manuel Agnelli - Celebrations, disillusionment and little hyenas

The celebrations for the twentieth anniversary of “Ballate per piccole iene” are about to kick off, culminating in the reissue of the album and a tour that will bring to the stage the lineup of Afterhours that recorded it back in 2005. In a long conversation with Manuel Agnelli, we start from “Ballate” and then take stock of the many projects currently keeping the Milanese band's frontman busy. Manuel tells us about the many roles he's playing these days, between music, theatre, radio and television, revealing his truths to us, holding nothing back, in the candid style that has always set him apart…

Rehearsing for the tour

Hi Manuel, first of all thanks for making the time. I'd like to dig into the many faces of your complex artistic personality, the many projects you're currently involved in. But first I'd like to start with the main reason we're meeting today: the celebrations for the twentieth anniversary of “Ballate per piccole iene”, the darkest and rawest record by Afterhours, celebrations that include the reissue of the album and a summer tour that will feature the very same lineup that recorded it on stage. Besides you, there will be Andrea Viti, Dario Ciffo and Giorgio Prette. Tell us how rehearsals are going, what it's been like playing together again after all this time, and how you're putting the show together, as much as you can reveal…

Hi Claudio, look, I have to tell you there's a special energy. After we met up and decided to go ahead with this project, a real wave of enthusiasm kicked in. We finally feel like we're closing some circles, resolving problems and misunderstandings, personal ones too, stemming from events that now belong to the past but had been left somewhat unresolved. Rehearsals are going really well, also because we chose - creating a bit of a headache for our management in the process - to hold them, in Milan, in the venue that used to be home to Jungle Sound, the recording studios and rehearsal rooms where a huge chunk of the Milan scene gathered and grew, from the Nineties through to the mid-2000s. Back then, just to name a few, there was us, Casino Royale, La Crus, Cristina Donà, Scisma, Bluvertigo, Ritmo Tribale. Even part of the city's early rap scene passed through there.

Plenty of musicians from the mainstream circuit were regulars at Jungle Sound too…

Yes, you could run into musicians like Enrico Ruggeri, Marco Masini, 883, Paola e Chiara - there was an incredible mixing of genres. In a setting like that, Afterhours had the chance to grow enormously, soaking everything up like sponges, even just by “spying” on the more skilled musicians, “stealing” EQ settings, studying the amplifier settings of guitarists who back then were far more famous than we were. Jungle Sound is a place close to our hearts, and even though it's no longer a rehearsal space but rather a venue for video production, we set up a proper studio there to run our rehearsals. And it hit us hard, in a good way, because starting this adventure again by finding ourselves in a place like that, one that means so much to us - well, it was just amazing. So rehearsals have gone very well musically, and even more so emotionally.

Whenever a split has occurred within the Afterhours world, it's almost always come down to personal choices made by whoever decided to leave

I imagine Andrea, Dario and Giorgio are absolutely buzzing!

Everyone cares about this in a truly special way, and you can feel it, you can sense it clearly. For some of them it might also represent a great chance at redemption. But I want to stress that whenever a split has occurred within the Afterhours world, it's almost always been a personal choice made by whoever decided to leave. In the end, I've only pushed for a couple of people out of twenty to leave over 40 years, and obviously I can't tell you who. On average, some left after 10-15 years in the band, Giorgio Prette even after 25 years, so these weren't snap decisions. And besides, any musician after so many years has every right to change, regardless of whatever results might come of it. As I was saying before, with the lineup that recorded "Ballate per piccole iene" there were personal misunderstandings that had needed resolving for a long time: this is the right occasion to do it.

Italy has always been snubbed, yes, but by Italians! 

The album's cast

"Ballate per piccole iene" was co-produced by you and Greg Dulli, leader of Afghan Whigs and Twilight Singers, who also took part in the recordings. But not everyone knows that the album also boasts the collaboration of two other international heavyweights: six tracks were mixed by John Parish (already a longtime collaborator of PJ Harvey), while Hugo Race (guitarist in Nick Cave's Bad Seeds) plays slide guitar on the title track. How was it possible to have collaborators of this caliber, at a time when Italy was rather snubbed on the international music stage?

Well, actually Italy has always been snubbed, yes, but by Italians! Certainly not by foreigners. The truth is that when we toured, both in Europe and in the United States, and I have to say especially in England, we've always been treated with the greatest respect, and the same has happened to many other Italian bands who've gone through the same experiences as us. It's we Italians who have these preconceptions. It's true that the Anglo-Saxon market is protectionist, in the sense that it protects its own productions, and it's also true that they have very strong marketing, that they dominate the world in terms of information and music distribution, but they don't have preconceptions: for them, if you're good, you're good. Collaborating with foreign musicians isn't that difficult: we've done it countless times. Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan were two major points of reference for me, as was John Parish. I personally have played with many very important artists, I'm thinking for instance of Stewart Copeland, Patti Smith, Adrian Belew, just to name the first few that come to mind. Many of them, back in those years, discovered that in Italy there were musicians with real talent, and quite a few of them even brought those musicians into their own bands. John Parish has been collaborating with Italian musicians for years, for example Giorgia Poli, the bassist of Scisma, often plays with him, and I've played with him myself. Steve Wynn, to give another example, is a very dear friend of mine, we've collaborated and played together countless times, Giovanni Ferrario has played with PJ Harvey, as have Enrico Gabrielli and Alessandro "Asso" Stefana, but there are really so many examples. As for us Afterhours, it wasn't difficult, it happened thanks to a series of contacts: we had John Parish listen to some tracks, thanks in part to Greg Dulli's good offices. I told him I'd love to work with him, because I really admired him as a producer, I found what he'd done with PJ Harvey and with Eels thrilling. Parish handled the mixing of some tracks on "Ballate per piccole iene", and he did it with tremendous enthusiasm, in some cases even solving problems, for instance because at the time we didn't know which direction to take some of the songs in.

It's Italians who are provincial: they always think they're inferior and treat Italian musicians as inferior compared to their foreign counterparts 

What about Hugo Race, though?

Hugo Race and I have known each other for about thirty years, because he lived in Sicily for a while, and he was part of a circle of people I knew well, so it came naturally to ask him too to do something on our record. Hugo is an extraordinary musician. He's always been very nomadic, and that's perhaps kept him from reaching the fame he deserved, but he's a person full of creative ideas. There's still a network today connecting Italian musicians with those abroad. Just to give you another example, I recently had the chance to meet Alessandro Cortini who, besides his notable solo career, has been playing in Nine Inch Nails for years. There are so many skilled musicians in this country, and it's Italians who are provincial: they always think they're inferior and treat their fellow countrymen as inferior compared to their foreign counterparts.

The reissue of "Ballate per piccole iene" includes a poster with the four original covers, photos taken by Guido Harari...

For those photo sessions we made a point of getting the best. We were thrilled by how much we loved the way the album was coming out, an album that also won over the other collaborators you mentioned before, Greg, John and Hugo, all genuinely enthusiastic about the record. John even took me to London to master the album, because he really wanted it to sound great. To seal the whole thing with artwork worthy of it, we went with who we considered the best "rock" photographer around. And we were very happy with the final result. The decision to include the poster in the reissue of "Ballate" is the clearest proof of that.

Up until 1997 we were seen as "good but unlucky", then, for a certain kind of crowd, we'd become the coolest band around

Irony and disillusionment

Actually, if you notice, the irony had already started fading a bit with the previous album, "Quello che non c'è". We'd had an exceptional run starting in 1997. Even before that things had been quite adventurous, but from 1997 onward, after the release of "Are You Afraid of the Dark?", the atmosphere around us changed radically. Up until 1997 we were seen as "good but unlucky", then, for a certain kind of crowd, we'd become the coolest band around. We were packing venues, everyone wanted us, we also had a great time, and I have to say there was a beautiful connection with the audience, because we were the same age as the people coming to see us, we were peers, so we were living through the same things, in our songs we told stories that were the same as our audience's, it was a magical moment.

So? It all sounds wonderful...

From that point on, we started to feel a bit of outside pressure, pressure that we wanted to reject. It was pressure to "streamline the work," to try to write singles that could broaden our level of popularity. This was quite disorienting for us. You see, on one hand we wanted to prove that we weren't musicians who wake up in the morning thinking they're geniuses or poets, expecting recognition and favours from everyone. No, we wanted to prove we were up to any challenge, and for us the challenge of writing songs that could be perceived as "singles," as potential hits within the independent circuit, well, that was a great creative stimulus. Not a commercial stimulus, as many might actually think, but a creative one, a way of testing ourselves, of finding out in practice what we were capable of building. But our goal had to remain doing what we wanted, what we preferred, and we felt we'd earned that chance after an endless apprenticeship. We refused the ghetto, that's something that has always set me apart: not making excuses like "people don't understand me," or "the market doesn't get us." The spirit that guided us was more like: let's make beautiful things, and let them be for everyone, let's take our music everywhere, while clearly staying ourselves. So that situation was destabilizing.

We were no longer troublemakers, we no longer provoked, we no longer had that role, and this threw us off, because all that acclaim, which at first had been wonderful, had turned into celebration at all costs

So what stopped working?

There's another element to consider: we started out as a disruptive band, a band that went on stage in little girls' dresses, with hairy legs, playing "Germi" or "Dea," songs that were explosive, especially for Italy at that time. Just think, at one point I even started doing martial arts as self-defence, because people used to fight at our shows, some situations got pretty extreme. By 1997 that extreme situation had turned into a triumph: the crowd adored us, they sang every song from start to finish, but we were no longer troublemakers, we no longer provoked, we no longer had that role, and this threw us off, because all that acclaim, which at first had been wonderful, had turned into celebration at all costs. People no longer cared how we were playing, what we were playing, they came to celebrate, to sing from start to finish, to pogo from start to finish, even during the ballads. This whole situation felt alienating, maybe we weren't ready, we had to learn how to handle certain things, we had to figure out how to stay ourselves within a context like that. I won't hide the fact that there were internal tensions, and the albums that followed, "Quello che non c'è" in 2002 and "Ballate per piccole iene" in 2005, reflect that condition: they're albums born of personal crisis, but they also reflect a lack of points of reference. If you recall, in the Nineties the world was supposed to change: the Berlin Wall had fallen, the Soviet Union had broken apart along with the Iron Curtain, Ceausescu had been overthrown in Romania, from 1992 to 1994 there was the Mani Pulite investigation, in short, it seemed like the world was finally going to change for the better. Instead, it didn't. Think of the image of Arafat and Begin shaking hands: the Palestinian question seemed on its way to being resolved, and yet today it still isn't, if anything... All these events in the Nineties had given us great hope. Instead, it all just faded away...

It had become a stifling kind of fundamentalism, there were by then more rules than in the mainstream... it had turned into a scene for posers

And once you crossed into the 2000s, disillusionment set in...

Yes, after "Non è per sempre," which came out in 1999 and is still fairly tied to the irony of the early albums you mentioned, "Quello che non c'è" and "Ballate per piccole iene" were albums of disillusionment, both disillusionment with the world around us and personal disillusionment. Disillusionment with the alternative scene which, you know, had always been fundamentalist. In my view, a bit of fundamentalism is needed, but that had become a stifling kind of fundamentalism, there were by then more rules than in the mainstream: you couldn't do that, you couldn't say this, you couldn't play a certain way, dress a certain way, in short, it had turned into a scene for posers, for lobbyists who had their own little "club" and wanted to keep control of it, so we no longer felt at home in a context that had by then radically changed. In the Eighties and Nineties we had helped build a scene that was real, a circuit that included dozens of festivals, hundreds of live clubs, thousands upon thousands of people following it, making it a genuine alternative reality. Back then we didn't need radio, TV or newspapers, because the scene existed regardless, thanks above all to insane word of mouth. But all this had gradually turned into an exclusive little "club," made up of people who hadn't really understood the spirit — not just the musical spirit, but the actual cultural spirit — of everything that had come before. Culture is above all communication, art is communication. Communicating, knowing how to do it in a certain way, matters. We of our generation all got our hands dirty, more or less; the following generation didn't. Maybe it was the internet's fault: the generation after mine had access to more precise reference points, which is why they ended up more derivative. We too tried to imitate our idols, but we couldn't, due to objective limitations, simply from not having access to audio and video material. But paradoxically, because of those very limits, we grew in a more personal way. At that point, no longer recognizing ourselves in anything, finding ourselves in limbo, pushed us toward directions we hadn't explored until then, and led us to those two albums: "Quello che non c'è" and "Ballate per piccole iene". On top of that, keep in mind that during that period there were some very particular personal situations, even within our private lives, and all of that obviously ended up inside those two albums.

Which Afterhours?

You're referring to the line-up that recorded and toured "Folfiri" as if it were the current Afterhours line-up, but it actually isn't: the current Afterhours line-up is the one that will play "Ballate per piccole iene"

I've followed you fondly for a lifetime, and I've always stayed attached to the historic names who've played in the band, but over time I've come to recognize the talent, the charisma, the personality of the more recent line-ups, learning to love Roberto Dell'Era as much as Andrea Viti, Rodrigo D'Erasmo as much as Dario Ciffo, Fabio Rondanini as much as Giorgio Prette, not to mention that extraordinary guitarist Stefano Pilia. In my opinion, and I think in yours too, the most recent Afterhours line-up, the one that recorded "Folfiri o Folfox," was the best the band has ever had, at least from a technical standpoint. How did the guys take it when they found out other musicians would be joining you for the celebratory "Ballate" tour?

I'll tell you the truth: we're not really in close touch with each other. You're referring to the line-up that recorded and toured "Folfiri o Folfox" as if it were the current Afterhours line-up, but it actually isn't: the current Afterhours line-up is the one that will play "Ballate per piccole iene," because I want Afterhours to live day by day. That lineup of Afterhours had turned into a small business, a project that was draining my energy instead of giving me any. That's not why I started making music. Besides, right now I do theatre, I do radio, when I want to I do television, every now and then I even dip into film, and then there's also music, but I don't depend, and I don't want to depend, on any single one of these worlds. I've always thought I became a musician so I could do what I wanted in life, not the other way around. Now I'm managing to do that, so it would be foolish for me to end up with my main source of energy, happiness, life, reduced to just one project among many. That's why at a certain point I no longer clicked with the musicians from the last lineup, who may well be the most technically accomplished ever, all truly remarkable, no doubt about it, but I also have to acknowledge that, creatively speaking, every Afterhours line-up has had a very strong personality of its own. Probably every Afterhours line-up has included musicians who weren't necessarily essential — which is why Afterhours didn't end when those musicians decided to leave the game — but they were all important, they all brought creativity. To be a living project, Afterhours has to live day by day: it's the only way to draw out the energy needed to keep a band going. Every band is a huge compromise; if that shared energy isn't there, that need to make things together, then it doesn't make sense. A band-as-project where everyone shows up to look cool, one month a year, or whenever they happen to have time between their other twenty thousand commitments, well, you know what? I'm not interested. I might be privileged, and I've also earned it, but now I have the chance to decide, to have musical projects that are energetically positive for me. This is also partly why redoing "Ballate per piccole iene" was a chance to bring Afterhours back to being a band. A real band. It'll last as long as it lasts, could be a month, six months, a year, that's not what matters, what matters is that it's worth it in terms of the energy we manage to give off, inside and out.

A band-as-project where everyone shows up to look cool, one month a year, or whenever they happen to have time between their other twenty thousand commitments, well, you know what? I'm not interested

After the first time I listened to "Ballate per piccole iene," I immediately called my friends from back then and told them: we absolutely have to go see Afterhours, this time they've really made their definitive album. You were playing at the former Mattatoio, in Testaccio, Rome, with Greg Dulli on stage with you, there were so many people queuing to get in, we hadn't expected it, and we missed the first 2-3 songs. It was a wonderful show. I thought you'd have a massive breakthrough, a real one, but instead Afterhours — in my view — kept on being the property of far too few people, a huge phenomenon but confined to the underground. Nobody outside our bubble knew Afterhours, the songs didn't get radio play, even though some of them were quite radio friendly. With hindsight, honestly, do you feel Afterhours deserved bigger success?

No, it's not like that, in the end success is entirely relative! If you mean filling stadiums, we've never been at that level of success, but in our own sphere, around the turn of the millennium, Afterhours were drawing two to three thousand people a show! By then we'd moved into a situation that wasn't fully underground anymore, or if it was, it was underground in the broadest possible sense. What's more, we already commanded quite lavish fees for that point in history, considering the kind of music we've always made. When talking about success, you have to keep your own frame of reference in mind: it's one thing to have success churning out pop earworms, it's another to have it while making records that are still difficult, because they don't belong to one specific genre. We're not metal, we're not dark, we don't really do indie in the strict sense, no, Afterhours have always been very hard to pin down in that respect, because of our natural musical DNA. We've also always rejected certain clichés — like, I don't know, cosmic doomed-artist posturing, or things like that — which might help you get associated with a given scene and which made other bands big or important. We were hard to label, but we were already getting incredible recognition, especially in the period from 2002-2003 through to 2010, when we had a truly massive audience. Even though we've had our ups and downs, like everyone else for that matter, our audience has grown steadily, and even now I'm genuinely surprised, because I wasn't prepared for certain results: right now we're seeing astonishing advance ticket sales for the upcoming tour, there's incredible love for this project, for these songs, especially considering this lineup hadn't played together in twenty years. We're doing monstrous numbers.

If I were the judge

Today I'm in a fantastic personal, artistic and creative place, I really do what I want, I have an enormous amount of fun, I'm still learning so many things even now: my life changed at 50. Everyone criticizes "X-Factor" and, fair enough, everyone's entitled to their own opinion, but for me "X-Factor" really did change my life. Not just because it put me at the centre of a media visibility that later helped me take on many other projects, but because it put me among people, something I'd always sought but in the past could never find a way to do. And you know why? Because I wanted to be with others, but without accepting the compromises that are usually necessary in social life. Being among people means accepting compromises in order to be there, and I was never able to accept those compromises. Television, on the other hand, finally let me be fully myself, even become even more of a character, with aspects of my personality that in the past probably weren't seen as good, positive or sociable — so, by remaining myself more than ever, I managed to become a person who could be among people. Now, when I'm out and about around the country, I feel good being among people. These things matter infinitely more in life than a diminished chord, or a particular guitar sound — for me, life is worth far more than all of that. All this is part of a life journey, for me and for everyone who, like me, has gone through quite a few personal hells. If you read the things we do, the decisions we make, the ones I make, in that light you should be able to read them much more clearly.

Germi

After the last twenty years of cultural destruction, of complete deconstruction, the market right now has become toxic

Your commitments today are genuinely numerous. In Milan, the Germi space was born a few years ago now, which I've interpreted as a kind of modern-day reinterpretation of the concept of the social centre…

Germi is precisely one of the projects I allowed myself thanks to the benefits that came from television, from "X-Factor" in particular. I had a cultural centre reopened in Milan, a workshop space where we brought together lots of creative activities, ranging from literature, with book presentations and writing courses, to drawing, from comics to stand-up comedy — for a while there was also theatre and a film club, plus numerous events, festivals and talks. Germi wants to be a workshop where creative people meet and are willing to exchange ideas, and now music has taken back a leading role because, thanks to an idea from Francesca Risi, one of Germi's partners, we've created a series called "Carne Fresca". Francesca came up with the name, even though it's an Afterhours song, one that's actually included on "Ballate per piccole iene". This series aims to offer concrete support to a brand-new generation of young musicians, kids between 15 and 30. Not so much help in gaining visibility, but rather in recognizing themselves, recognizing themselves as a scene, because there's a thriving scene of kids who play, and play rather well, and there's a curious audience eager to discover them.

This really excited me, because after the last twenty years of cultural destruction, of complete deconstruction, the market right now has become toxic in how utterly devoid it is of any kind of social direction. Today's music market only pushes messages about success at all costs, cunning, convenience. Taking initiatives like the ones we're taking within Germi is a task that falls to people of my generation: we all need to find a way to pass on the experiences we lived through, when we proved it was possible to build a genuinely alternative scene, one capable of living a life of its own and producing real professional skills, as well as plenty of art and creativity. All of this has become possible again today: within just a few months, we've received more than 700 requests from young bands wanting to play, and we're setting up numerous activities to make it happen. Not just at Germi, where there are queues outside, with an audience genuinely eager to watch performances by unknown bands — which isn't something to take for granted — but also by taking these groups around Italy. We've just taken part in the Festival dell'Economia in Trento, bringing along four of these bands. On the show I host on Radio 24, at the end of every episode, I play a track by one of these new groups. Soon, as Germi, we'll be curating the musical direction of the Milano Film Fest, and every day two acts from the "Carne Fresca" circuit will perform on the forecourt of the Piccolo Teatro.

The self-ghettoization, the protectionism that the Italian "alternative" scene has practiced since the 2000s has destroyed everything that was there, everything, completely

Some of them will also open dates on your tour…

Yes, we'll have two opening bands each night on the whole "Ballate" tour. All told, we're mobilizing around fifty bands, giving them the chance to grow in the meantime, letting them gain experiences that would otherwise have taken them much longer to achieve. But above all — I repeat — the real mission is to learn to recognize themselves as a community, to swap gear, swap contacts, share experiences with each other, grow as a scene, the way we did back in the late Eighties. In a few years' time, this could lead to rebuilding a very strong scene, one capable of positioning itself as an alternative to what's happening in the market right now. It'll take time, it won't happen any time soon, but these kids are still very young after all. The self-ghettoization, the protectionism that the Italian "alternative" scene has practiced since the 2000s has destroyed everything that was there, everything, completely. What we need to do is open back up, defending a certain kind of language while turning outward, toward people. These kids are ready to do that, because they're less conditioned, less provincial than the whole scene built by the generation before them ever was.

I've said no to a ton of offers, and to a huge amount of money too — money that would make anyone calling me a sellout kill their entire family for, I guarantee you

Radio 24 – Leoni per Agnelli

There's also a Manuel Agnelli who works as a radio host, one who knows how to bring back the atmosphere of the free radio stations of the '70s/'80s. On Radio 24 you host the show "Leoni per Agnelli", also available as a podcast. These are themed episodes dedicated to musicians, both very well-known ones and more "niche" ones — episodes in which, for instance, you shine a spotlight on Marta Salogni or Valentina Magaletti. Then there are illuminating deep dives, like the episodes on producers. How did this experience come about, and how much freedom do you have in choosing the topics covered?

This too was one of the positive consequences of television. The fact that I'd become a prominent TV personality meant I got a lot of offers. I've said no to a ton of offers, and to a huge amount of money too — money that would make anyone calling me a sellout kill their entire family for, I guarantee you. And I said no to several of them because some of the projects I was offered didn't actually concern me, weren't really mine to do. Others, though, I found really stimulating and agreed to do. Radio 24 got in touch to offer me hosting my very own show, giving me complete creative freedom, which is genuinely a big deal. Radio 24 is a station that mainly covers economics, but it's one of the few radio stations in Italy that actually has content: it's not just an empty shell, like so many others. Whereas on commercial radio, format and pacing matter more than content — that's just how they work — on Radio 24, content is essential, because it's a news and current-affairs station, one of the few in Italy where you can actually go in depth. So the offer intrigued me, I gave it a try, and now we've reached the third season. It's going really well, because I can genuinely do what I want. By now I think I've earned a bit of credibility, so guests are happy to come on, they know that in my space they can speak freely, go in depth, and it's all really stimulating. I'm still learning a huge amount, partly because I get to meet all kinds of people, not just musicians and artists, but also scientists, athletes, chefs — and it's another really wonderful way to stay among people.

Manuel the producer

The music world isn't made up of mature people, it isn't made up of people with great mental clarity

I was referring to the episodes dedicated to producers, and you yourself have produced some very important records in the past. Among others, we could mention your work with Cristina Donà, with the second album by Verdena, and with Massimo Volume on “Club Privé”. You were very sought-after as a producer. Why did you decide, at a certain point, to stop doing this work?

Being a producer is frustrating: in the end, if the record is good, the credit goes to the band, and if it's bad, the blame goes to the producer. It's a huge responsibility. As a producer, I've naturally always tried to bring something of my own to the table, because otherwise what use are you? At the same time, though, I've always tried to respect the artist's vision. Sometimes too much, even. Over time I've realized it's a role I struggle to fill, because artists often have their own vision and can't see things from the outside. It's happened to me too, mind you! You have to be a producer first and a musician second, and unfortunately I'm a musician first and a producer second, so I always end up letting myself be swayed a little by artists when they put their own idea on the table. And often their idea isn't the best one, seen from outside. My problem has always been respecting artists too much, and in my opinion, whenever that's happened, it hasn't served the record well. I'm too much of a musician to be a professional producer. What's more, in some cases - though I won't say which - artists act as if they're the ones doing you a favor, regardless, mind you, of how famous they are. I found this same attitude inside "X-Factor" too. My whole life I've been trying to give space to others: I organized the Tora Tora Festival, as you know, then the "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" nights, and then "Il Paese è reale", and after a while the dynamics are always the same: they act like they're doing you the favor, and they even expect a certain kind of attention, service, care - none of which makes any sense. The music world isn't made up of mature people, it isn't made up of people with great mental clarity, on a human level it's always very difficult. Being a producer gave me huge satisfaction at first, and that happened when I found people who trusted me. The same thing happened on "X-Factor": when I found people who trusted me, the results were great, even very, very great; but when I ran into people who only trusted me up to a certain point, the results in the end weren't good. Being a producer has become a side thing for me now, one that interests me less and less.

Manuel as a songwriter for hire

On the other hand, you've barely ever explored the role of writing for other artists, almost never. Could that intrigue you in the future?

I wrote for Mina, what more could I do? Let's say I got that satisfaction out of my system very early, walking in through the front door. I write out of a need to do it, that's my way of writing, I don't have another one. I don't write as a profession, even though over time it has become one. I prefer doing other things, and we've talked about many of them during this interview - besides, I want to keep some time to live, to travel, to see friends, to go places, to sleep. I don't feel this pull to be an artist by necessity from morning to night; I don't want it to take on all the negative traits of a job, even though it is one, to all intents and purposes. My obsession in recent years has been preserving energy, and the energy that comes, say, from playing is so vital precisely because I don't treat it as a job, in the sense that I don't have to do it out of obligation: as I was saying, I try to get involved in many projects so that none of them can become indispensable. I don't have deadlines - although in practice deadlines do exist - but they're not work deadlines, like clocking in and out. Also, I've discovered that the more I work outside of music, the more I manage to free music from pressure. Writing for others has never been a need for me, and I don't think it will become one in the future.

Manuel and theatre: Lazarus

In a few days you'll be in Rome to close the second season of "Lazarus". Tell us how this further project, in which you're a lead performer, came about and how it's going…

In recent weeks we've brought "Lazarus" to Florence, Bolzano, Modena, Cesena, Genoa, Bologna; we'll wrap up in Milan from May 28th to June 1st at the Arcimboldi, while in Rome we'll be there from June 5th for 12 shows at the Teatro Argentina. Come and see it, because I don't know if there will be another run: this is already the second one, we did 66 sold-out shows the first time, this year it's another 40 in total, so honestly I don't know if there will be a third run of "Lazarus". It's worth it, not least because there's an extraordinary band. There's Stefano Pilia, with whom I keep up a very lively working relationship, beyond what he's done with Afterhours; there's Stefano Battaglia, formerly of Zu; there's Paolo Spaccamonti, another extraordinary musician; there's Giacomo Rossetti, who is the bassist of Negrita and played live in my solo project. A fantastic band and a cast of very young performers, theatre's new generation. And then there are the songs of David Bowie, emotionally special, and a fantastic staging, because it highlights the emotional core of this work, which isn't built on an actual narrative - there's no real storyline - but there are many metaphors woven through the story that the audience recognizes very easily, expressed with great power, thanks to the sheer grandeur of the songs. A show that, beyond theatre and music, also brings together dance and video art - more a piece of theatre than a musical, a music-theatre work, as David Bowie himself called it. Compared to the version staged on Broadway, our production is much darker, much closer to what Bowie would originally have wanted to put on stage, and we know this because Valter Malosti, the director, is a friend of Enda Walsh, co-author - together with Bowie - of the work. The two talked at length about how Bowie would really have wanted "Lazarus" to be staged. Sadly, he died shortly after the Broadway premiere, by which point he certainly no longer had the energy or the desire to change any aspect of the work. Our version should nonetheless be much closer to what David Bowie would have wanted.

We won't miss the chance to come and see you, on the other side of the barrier, both for "Lazarus" and for the "Ballate" tour. See you soon, Manuel, and thank you for your incredible generosity.

Thank you!

(May 26, 2025)

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This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Claudio Lancia, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.

Read the original in Italian · About the English edition