Garbo - Beyond Italian New Wave

Born in Milan during a period of intense urban and cultural ferment, Garbo — real name Renato Abate — was never simply a singer-songwriter: he was a pioneer of an Italian sound that looked beyond its borders, toward an electric, decadent, dreamlike Europe. With the release of his debut album "A Berlino… va bene" in 1981, Garbo opened up a breach in the national scene: a deep voice, new wave atmospheres, glam echoes, and an idea of music as "photography in motion". Since those days, he has crossed decades, moving through years of electronic pop, bold attempts at stylistic renewal, independent choices, and tours that left an indelible mark. We dig into Garbo the man and the artist: what pushed him to choose an alternative path, how he came to terms with the evolution of the Italian music scene, and what convictions — amid sonic experimentation and a drive for authenticity — still guide him today.

I'm truly honored to be talking with you today. I first came across your music when I was 15. I don't belong to your generation, but I was lucky enough to grow up with some of your songs. First of all, I wanted to know what pushed you, now more than fifty years ago, to become a musician.

There are two main reasons. The first is that I was born in Milan, a city that has always played a central role for anyone wanting to make music. Milan gave you access to a world that didn't exist elsewhere: record labels, music scenes, opportunities that were much harder to reach outside the city. The second reason is more personal. As a young listener, I felt the urge to create something of my own, to write and compose. I was drawn to more experimental, international sounds, far removed from the traditional Italian singer-songwriter tradition. I wasn't trying to tell stories in my lyrics, but to write in images, as if it were a visual language, closer to photography and cinema. In Italy, popular music was what they called "music for everyone", but I was after something different. I felt closer to Roxy Music, Velvet Underground, Lou Reed, Brian Eno, David Bowie. They were the ones speaking a language that resonated with my sensibility, not just as a listener but also as a future record producer. I wanted to make something that wasn't just Italian, but had a global dimension. Milan let me explore these new musical territories.

Around that time you also got to know Franco Battiato, who was an important point of reference for so many artists. Battiato managed to combine a popular side — selling millions of records — with a thoroughly international sound, without ever giving up his Italian identity. What do you think of him? And what kind of influence did he have on you, especially during that period?

For me it was a stroke of luck, but also a chance opportunity. When I released my first record I was only 19, and I was signed by Emi, which at the time was the most powerful record label in the world. Battiato was part of that same roster, and it was natural for him to take me on tour with him before my album came out. Around that time he was about to release "La voce del padrone", a truly special moment. What struck me most, though, wasn't so much the musical side directly, as the career experience. I got to do a 70-date tour as his opening act, but above all I was a kind of mascot for the tour. I traveled with him and his band, we shared every moment, and that period was really formative. Battiato, besides being a great artist, was an extremely sharp and refined person, with a clear, precise vision of music. What he taught me more than anything was an approach to a career: staying true to your own artistic vision without giving in to compromise, without ever making choices that were purely commercial. That's a lesson I carry with me: never compromise while still keeping your creative independence. Battiato also had the courage to combine his more experimental side with a more direct, accessible, almost "pop" sound. It wasn't a contradiction, but a conscious choice, a way of bringing his art even to people who would never listen to avant-garde music, but who could still recognize and appreciate the message. That fusion between depth of language and accessibility made him unique, and it taught me that you can stay true to your art without losing yourself.

How do you deal with change? Have you ever felt the pressure to stay current, or do you prefer to follow your own direction, without being too swayed by the trends of the moment?

I think there are always outside factors that influence our work, even unintentionally. We walk down the street, we see things, we listen, and all of that changes us. The world around us leaves its mark, and that feeds into our creative process. But there's also a personal factor: my own need for change. I've never wanted to get trapped in routine, in cliché. A lot of my peers, once they find a formula that works, tend to repeat it endlessly. I'd be bored to death. For me music is alive, not some mechanical routine. Of course, there's always a price to pay. Creative freedom lets you evolve, but music is also a product, so you always have to reckon with its commercial side. If you don't stick to the clichés that gave you visibility, you inevitably pay for it in popularity. I understood early on that I would never be part of the mainstream national music scene. Italy is a fairly conservative country, and when you offer something that falls outside its traditional boundaries, you have to accept being an outsider. But for me that was never a problem — quite the opposite. It was always a conscious choice.

Looking at your career, it occurs to me that you had, in a way, a career that ran parallel to that of Fausto Rossi, especially in the early phase…

Yes, that's true. Despite appearing on shows like Raffaella Carrà's, Pippo Baudo's or Mike Bongiorno's — hugely visible events at the time — I came from a very different world. What was extraordinary was that I managed to bring alternative music, the kind played in basements or small underground venues, straight into the mainstream. Imagine the impact it must have had, for people playing in the more experimental circuits, to see me show up at Sanremo or on a stage like Pippo Baudo's. It was a rare phenomenon, especially in those years. As Piero Pelù once said, what I represented was proof that even alternative music could reach the "masses", a much wider audience. It wasn't so much what I wrote, but where my work ended up being placed, in a context that was, at the time, out of the ordinary. Back then, few people would have imagined that an artist as experimental as Fausto Rossi could ever appear on television. It was a peculiar period, when things happened that seem unthinkable today. What I think was truly groundbreaking is that music coming from such alternative circles managed to break into mainstream spaces, pushing the boundaries and showing that even that kind of music could have a place in a reality that seemed far removed from it.

Speaking of new wave, another band that comes to mind are Krisma…

We were good friends, both with Cristina and with Maurizio. We saw each other often, swapping ideas and projects. Maurizio had a sound that went beyond new wave, heavily influenced by the New York scene. There was definitely a Teutonic streak to it, but also a strong experimental component in the New York style. So much so that, at a certain point, they moved to New York. We used to meet up often, because there were so few of us in Italy following that kind of sound. It was natural to spend time together, sharing thoughts and creative inspiration. Their sound was truly unique for the time, and you could tell there was a constant sense of exploration.

And what about other artists from your generation like Andrea Chimenti or Enrico Ruggeri, what do you think of them?

I've known all of them for almost 40 years. Andrea Chimenti and I talk from time to time, and each of us has tried to follow our own path, enriching it with very personal choices. Enrico, for instance, also had major success as a mainstream songwriter, like with “Il mare d’inverno” for Bertè. Some work more behind the scenes, while others, like Enrico, are more visible. These are still islands of authentic music in a landscape that today is somewhat questionable. Young people today are rightly skeptical about the genuineness of what they see, but it's good to see that, despite everything, there's still room for music that isn't purely commercial, but has real substance and credibility.

There are some very significant records in your career, like “Il fiume” or “Manifesti”, but live you only ever revisit a couple of the more famous tracks from them. Is there a particular reason for that?

I was talking about this recently with Eugene, my live partner. When you play live, you have to make choices, especially today, when concerts have become very complex to organize. Costs are high, so it's inevitable that you have to distill the songs down. The live show has to be a “synopsis” of my career, where I try to satisfy the audience with the most representative songs, the ones people expect. That said, I'd have enough material to put together four or five different sets, with more experimental and obscure tracks I'd love to play. Unfortunately, though, the reality today is that promoters look for more commercial shows, so it becomes difficult to find room for concerts that don't follow that logic. What's more, costs and organizational difficulties have increased, especially after the pandemic, and many clubs that used to make room for real music are closing down or shifting to a more commercial kind of offering. Today it's more complicated to play in theaters and clubs, and the music scene has changed a great deal compared to ten years ago.

There's a real sense of studio control in your albums. Is that right?

Absolutely. From the very beginning I've always overseen every aspect of my projects, 360 degrees around. I don't let others handle the creative side just for convenience. On the latest album, “In the Void” (2023), for example, I followed every stage, from sound production to arrangement, all the way to mastering. Even Giovanni Versari, who handled the mastering, told me the work was almost already perfect, that he'd had very little to do.

You can really feel your stamp on it...

Exactly. I've always wanted to be present at every stage. I work with collaborators I choose personally, like Eugene and Roberto Colombo, but the creative side and the overall vision are always under my control. The personality of a work comes through when you handle every detail, including the visual ones. For instance, for the album cover, I did research into locations and wanted that specific photo in that exact place. Every small detail helps create the stamp that is mine.

To celebrate 50 years of your career, you'll be holding a concert at the Legend in Milan on December 4th.

Exactly. It'll be more of a family celebration than a formal one, with longtime friends like Lele Battista and Andy. We want it to be an informal occasion, where the music is at the center, but without too much formality.

So, a more personal event...

Yes, we've decided to offer 10 free tickets for young people under 30. I think it's important to give opportunities to the new generations, especially given how expensive tickets are these days. I see so many young people asking me for an autograph after concerts, and their enthusiasm always surprises me. It's great that they appreciate the music for what it is, not just because they're tagging along with their parents.

During the concert, you'll be playing the tracks from your new live album titled “Sulle cose che cambiano”, right?

Yes, we'll play the songs from this record, mixing historic material with more obscure tracks, and some songs from the latest album. I'll also open with a surprise.

What is this surprise?

The tribute to artificial intelligence, but as a support to human creativity. The track is from my 2002 album “Blu”, and I don't sing it myself, a female singer does. The surprise is that halfway through the track, the vocal switches from her to me. I want to show that artificial intelligence can be powerful, but only if used consciously, without ever replacing human creativity.

So it's not a criticism of AI itself…

Exactly. Human art is unsurpassable. AI can amplify creativity, just as electronics did in the Seventies, but it can never replace it. If a young artist thinks AI can replace their talent, that's a mistake. It's better to use technology to amplify your own creativity, not to replace it.

In the Eighties, the synthesizer took on a different meaning compared to the previous decade…

Exactly. In the Eighties there were moments of great creativity as well as of low quality. Some used machines to replace creativity, but for me electronics has always been a tool for broadening horizons. We shouldn't reduce that decade to "plastic music". Every era has its own problems, but also great creativity.

So music was never just a matter of technology…

Exactly. Technology brings innovation, but if used badly it can flatten everything out. It's like the Internet: if we don't use it well, it becomes a trap. Music is never just technology, it's about how we use it. If you use the right tools to amplify your creativity, you make art. If you shut yourself off with it, you do harm. Creativity is always human, even with digital tools. Technology should be a support, not a substitute.

And what about the future of music?

I have a rather bleak outlook. With artificial intelligence, we can "bring back to life" artists like Michael Jackson on stage, reproduce their voice, their image, and create brand new music. But this means that the figure of the artist, as we've always known it, risks disappearing. Music will have to face a reality where everything can be reproduced or recreated digitally.

This shift also affects younger musicians, right?Absolutely. Morgan said the same back in the Nineties, when he was trying to "go down in history", but today that's no longer possible. Music has become too globalized and mass-produced. Everything has been flattened out. David Bowie, in one of his last interviews, spoke of the Internet as a "monster that will swallow everything", and he was right. How can a talented eighteen-year-old manage to emerge in a context like this?

The future really does seem complicated for a young artist…

Today there's no longer that space which once allowed talent to truly make a difference. Music is easily accessible to everyone, but this flattens quality. Everything is more accessible, but in the end nobody manages to stand out. Music is heading in a direction that, unfortunately, doesn't seem to leave room for the emotion and authenticity that used to be there. For all its beauty and potential, the direction is mostly commercial.

Do you think young musicians' imagination today is emptier than it used to be?

That's exactly it. With the imagination emptied out, the dream has also vanished. When I was young, I wanted to become an artist, to write, compose, make music. My aspiration wasn't "to become famous and rich". Today, unfortunately, when I talk to young people, many tell me: "It doesn't matter what I do, as long as I become famous and rich". But what's the dream in that case? It's all about appearances, a race for visibility. When I lived to make music, fame was a consequence, not the goal. Today, if the social and cultural foundations on which to build dreams are missing, everything vanishes emotionally too. Passion, authenticity, the dream itself are dying. Today, unfortunately, having personality is seen as a flaw. We used to look for personality, and it was exactly that which built the myth.

If you emerged as an artist today, do you think you'd be welcomed positively, in Italy?

Honestly, I don't think I'd even manage to "break through" today. And the same goes for artists like David Bowie, Bryan Ferry or U2. The record industry would reject them straight away. Nowadays, if you do something too original, too personal, they say: "What kind of music is this supposed to be?" It would be an instant "no". Imagine Frank Sinatra today: he'd probably be relegated to playing piano bars, and even there he'd struggle to get noticed. The record industry would ignore him, and he'd just be another talent who never breaks into the market.

You mentioned dreams. Do you think your generation had a different dream compared to today's?

Yes, without a doubt. But they're no longer dreams tied to projecting yourself into the future. As you get older, it becomes inevitable to become more aware that life has a beginning and an end. I no longer make plans with fixed deadlines. But once you're born a dreamer, you stay one your whole life. Maybe the dreams change, become less concrete, but they're part of your DNA, a daily need, like eating or sleeping. The dream never disappears, it's rooted inside us, regardless of the path we take.

Renato, I really want to thank you for sharing this hour with me…

The pleasure was mine. We talked about so many things and you asked me interesting questions, nothing trivial. Thank you!

(December 4, 2025)

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