A leading name in Italian music journalism, with a long career on the pages of "Rockerilla", "Velvet" and "Mucchio Selvaggio", critic, writer and record producer, radio host on the airwaves of Rai and today editor of the quarterly "Mucchio Extra", Federico Guglielmi wanted to celebrate thirty years of "service" with us. We took the chance to put him through a barrage of questions, asking him to account for testimonies, judgments, taboos and the transformations of music criticism and the rock world. And without sparing him a few venomous curiosities...

Thirty years ago your first article came out. Can you remind us what it was about? And which is, in absolute terms, the article you feel most attached to?

It was two reviews, both published in issue 21 of Mucchio Selvaggio: the debut albums by Bizarros and Tin Huey, two new wave bands from Akron, Ohio. Back then, in 1979, I was deep into a punk and post-punk trip, and I went looking - not without effort - for the most obscure artists. They were fairly long reviews, around 3,000 characters each: correctly written but too descriptive, fussy and lacking in imagination. But I was only nineteen and a complete self-taught beginner, so I've forgiven myself.

As for the article I'm most fond of, the choice is very, very hard. After thinking about it for a long time, I'd say the review of "Hai paura del buio?" by Afterhours that came out in Mucchio: I went out on a limb quite a bit and I'm glad I did. I'm also attached to quite a few interviews: Jeff Buckley, Bobby Gillespie, Billy Corgan, Greg Graffin and Brett Gurewitz, Francesco Guccini.

Every coin has its flip side, right? So yes, I do sometimes miss those days when things were more "cut with an axe" and therefore easier to handle on every level; but those are fleeting and ultimately sterile thoughts - in the end it's better to accept the current "glorious mess" and enjoy it as much as possible. The stances people took back then were the product of a general climate in which rock listeners set themselves up in opposition to the "system" and the music it was seen as producing, deemed phony: you had to choose a side, and sometimes everything got lumped together indiscriminately. Luckily for me, I always sided with the music I considered valid, without genre prejudices, so I don't think I have any glaring skeletons in the closet like some colleagues who, often just for the thrill of a sensationalist outburst, violently embraced the cause of one specific style while dumping on everything else: in the '70s, when I was a young enthusiast and not yet a professional, "rock" meant Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin but also Popol Vuh and Tangerine Dream, Grateful Dead and Fairport Convention but also Weather Report and Beaver&Krause, Creedence Clearwater Revival and Jackson Browne but also Stooges and Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath and Genesis but also Guccini and Battisti, and my approach has always been this, even if of course the names changed over time. Then, sure, I fired off the odd broadside myself, but at specific targets, not into the (ahem...) pile.

More generally, what has changed in the way criticism is practiced compared to when you started working for Mucchio Selvaggio?

Quite a few things. First of all, thirty years ago doing research was extremely difficult due to the scarcity of sources, whereas today - with the Internet - it's exactly the opposite; with a bit of time and effort, writing inaccuracies has become almost impossible, and if you still read a ton of nonsense online, that's down to superficiality and passive "copy and paste". Back then, reviewing very often meant introducing almost unknown records and explaining why they were or weren't worth buying... which, if it happened, was most of the time done "sight unseen", purely on trust in the critic in question; nowadays, if anything, there's less responsibility, because nobody buys "blind" anymore, so the press's opinion is more of a general guide, or at most a point of confirmation. Also, nowadays you really should be much more careful about what you write: back then, only a few people noticed any nonsense and it was hard to spread it, whereas these days - between websites, blogs and forums - you get pilloried in an instant. I'd also say that today, in general, people tend to pay more attention to style.

On a more practical level, reviews used to be written calmly, holding the record you'd bought in a shop, whereas today it's dreadful promos - even in Mp3 - and notes almost always cut to the bone due to the rush to "get there first"; interviews were only done abroad or when artists happened to come to Italy for a tour, phone interviews were extremely rare; contacts, in terms of labels and press offices, were far fewer; magazines sold more copies and, in proportion to the amount of work involved, fees were higher. And I'm sure I'm forgetting something.

A widespread ailment of Italian music criticism is the self-indulgence it carries with it, a sort of superiority complex toward anything new. The consequence is that people end up praising the same old names for decades, and treating new musical impulses as lesser stepchildren. And that's in the rare cases where their development is even fully noticed. Do you feel immune to this observation?

Among my more "veteran" colleagues, I believe I'm definitely one of the most interested in what's new, whether it's genuinely new or merely presumed to be. Sure, thirty years ago - but also twenty, ten, or five - I was more focused, not so much in terms of what I listened to but in what subjects I chose to cover, on new stuff, but I think that's a given: for reasons of experience and expertise, I'm almost bound to deal with a lot of historic artists. On the Italian scene, though, I've never stopped writing - and quite a lot - about emerging artists, a notoriously thorny area for a thousand reasons.

Honestly, though, I don't think so-called mainstream critics snub what's new: if anything, it seems to me that the real indulgence is shown towards young artists, who are often praised well beyond their actual merits... partly out of genuine enthusiasm, partly to go along with the constant hunt for the "next big thing", and partly to convince themselves they're really living through "new, strong, interesting modern times", to quote Giovanni Lindo Ferretti. As I see it, the real problem with today's music is the oversupply, which inevitably drags average quality downward, especially in terms of creativity: amid so many pointless records, finding the few worthwhile ones is a real challenge, and it's no surprise that some people prefer to stick with sure bets.

Don't you think that web magazines approach this differently, perhaps closer to the new ways people listen to music and to their new listeners?

Actually, it seems to me that, in principle, online magazines only partly exploit the opportunities offered by the web, preferring instead to follow the traditional templates of print magazines. Sure, they embrace interactivity as much as they can, but on the whole they don't strike me as being all that revolutionary. That said, let me be clear: I have no idea what could be invented that would be truly, radically new - if I did have that idea, I'd put it into practice immediately!

What do you remember about how the new wave movement was received in Italy?

On the audience side, there was initial wariness that later turned into a proper cult following, along with the eternal debate over whether the lyrics should be in English or in our own language. As for the musicians, there was the enthusiasm with which many of them tried to absorb the influences coming from Britain and the United States: there was a lot of naivety, but also plenty of talent and courage.

On the OndaRock forum you've often said that certain chart-topping pop, like the kind put out by Duran Duran in the Eighties, should be considered frivolous, especially compared to all that music of far greater artistic stature. So it seems to me that you're a believer in the dichotomy between frivolous music and artistic music. What, then, is the dividing line that lets you dismiss Duran Duran as a band of little artistic value while Carmen Consoli deserves to have a whole book written about her?

Given the impact that Duran Duran had on the entire world, I'd say they were more "deserving" than Carmen Consoli of having a book written about them... and indeed, quite a few books have been written about them. From a journalistic standpoint, I think both stories are interesting, and the fact that I chose to tell Carmen Consoli's doesn't mean I consider Duran Duran's story something "to be dismissed": I simply prefer the former to the latter, above all because I'm convinced that Carmen is, tastes aside, a first-rate artist, virtually unique within the Italian context and not nearly as "lightweight" as many superficially assume.

As for the frivolity-versus-art divide, I don't think chart pop is automatically garbage: I do, however, feel an instinctive revulsion for all that pop which, however well crafted, exists solely to enrich its makers and, above all, whoever is pulling the strings for their own profit... especially when the whole thing is produced in an industrial, soulless way from the start.

Reading the pages of Mucchio, one often gets the impression that prejudices against progressive rock die hard there. Is it really possible that the only prog bands worth mentioning are Van Der Graaf Generator and King Crimson? What's your personal take on bands like Yes, Gong, Caravan and Genesis?

Yes, the prejudices are there, and on the whole they have their reasons, in the sense that even I - certainly the most "moderate" one, at least among the most active members of the staff - find certain manifestations of prog truly unbearable for their bloated self-indulgence... just as, however, I find the kitsch excesses of certain glam acts, or the theatrics of certain punk acts, unbearable.

Personally, I'm very fond of the only Genesis that ever really existed, namely the Peter Gabriel-era one, and I still hold it against my parents for not letting me attend their historic Rome concert because I was too young. Yes would perhaps have done better to break up after "Close To Edge", but up to that point there's almost nothing to object to. As for Gong and Caravan, I know their Seventies discographies well, but about them - as about the Canterbury scene in general - it's hard, if not impossible, to say anything but good things.

Are there any pans you've come to regret over the years?

I've regretted certain over-the-top enthusiasms more, but if I could go back in time I wouldn't write - for instance - the rather silly couple of lines I wrote, in a round-up piece, about the Clash's "London Calling", a decidedly unfavorable review of the Fuzztones' "Lysergic Emanations", and a rather lukewarm one of the first Jon Spencer Blues Explosion album. I can't think of anything else, but there's surely more...

Which colleagues do you rate the most? And which ones can't you stand? For instance, I gather there's some bad blood between you and Scaruffi... I believe he didn't take kindly to your views on his Rock History.

When it comes to professional respect, leaving personal matters aside, for what they write and how they write it, my all-time favourites are Eddy Cilìa, Stefano Isidoro Bianchi and Riccardo Bertoncelli. On the opposite side, I can't stomach Christian Zingales, who's a fine writer but too often seems to lay it on thick out of a desire for the spotlight, and of course the Supreme Know-It-All Scaruffi, egotism made flesh. I don't know whether he took issue with my judgments – something I sincerely hope he did, to be clear – regarding his writing; I've never had any contact with him and I hope I never will.

Do you think rock is dead? And if so, who buried it?

Rock, whatever specific meaning you want to give the word, seems to be in excellent health, not only in form but in substance too. Anyone who doubts it should listen, for instance, to Tinariwen, and perhaps read up on their story while they're at it.

You're a great expert on punk, a movement rightly considered revolutionary. Would you be willing, though, to frame it from a new perspective, namely as a reactionary (rather than revolutionary) return to the simple, raw song form of Fifties rock, in opposition to the bold experimentation that so many avant-garde bands had arrived at by the mid-Seventies?

"Reactionary" and "revolutionary"… which came first, the chicken or the egg? Jokes aside, if the original rock'n'roll was a revolution – and no doubt it was – why should punk, which in essence wanted to reconnect precisely with its wildest, most "dangerous" origins, be seen any differently? That said, sure, you could also talk about it in terms of "reactionary-ness", but we shouldn't forget that punk wasn't just a musical style but also a form of expression tied to social and artistic concerns.

You once wrote that "Il testamento di Tito" was your personal "Anarchy in the Uk". What was your relationship with De André, and what do you think of the way the Genoese singer-songwriter is remembered today?

Fabrizio De André was the artist who introduced me to "serious" music, thanks to the records belonging to the mother of a schoolmate of mine, who was a huge fan of his: that's where it all started, it must have been 1971 because I remember very clearly that "Non al denaro, non all'amore né al cielo" had just come out. I regret never having met him; I have fond memories of the various times I saw him live – including on the historic tour with Pfm – and the emotions his songs still give me every time I listen to them, even though I know practically all of them by heart. It feels strange these days to see him celebrated like just any "ordinary" singer, when he was actually a truly awkward, subversive artist, difficult to pin down… someone who went "in a stubborn and contrary direction" and slipped free of any kind of pigeonholing.

For anyone young in 2000, the images of Venditti, De Gregori and others being put on "political trial" on stage at a concert in the Seventies seem like pure science fiction. How do you judge the pressure the music scene was under back then?

The Seventies were strange years, and yes, I realise that certain things that were "normal" at the time might seem downright crazy today. In those days, when politics was a deadly serious matter and part of the lives of so many young people, politically engaged singer-songwriters were seen as important symbols of the Left and were therefore subjected to often fierce criticism. Maybe it was overdone, granted, but the idea that certain public figures – who had, after all, put themselves out there – should be held to account for any contradictions doesn't strike me as so wrong. In this world of turncoats and excessive apathy, a bit of a "call to order" and a return to engagement wouldn't hurt.

Il Mucchio has a particular soft spot for Springsteen, who features no fewer than five titles in Extra's list of the 500 essential albums in rock history. Setting aside the man's stature, aren't you worried that the magazine you write for might be guilty of critical indulgence toward the Boss?

Historically speaking, I can't deny that Il Mucchio has sometimes been too kind, but in recent years we haven't exactly gone easy on the Boss… who, missteps aside, remains an artist and a man deserving of esteem and respect. As for the book, it's worth remembering that it was a collection of card-style articles, each devoted to a decade, that had appeared across five different issues of Extra: in other words, the list was actually a set of lists with unavoidable constraints, not a single organic ranking. We chose "The Ghost Of Tom Joad" for the Nineties, fair enough; "Nebraska" for the Eighties, and I don't think anyone could object; if anything we overdid it with the Seventies, including "Born To Run", "Darkness On The Edge Of Town" and "The River" all at once, but leaving out any one of those three – given that it was Il Mucchio, after all – simply wasn't an option.

What do you make of Max Stefani's hysterical outbursts against religion? Do you think they serve Il Mucchio Selvaggio's editorial agenda?

It's not so much religion itself that Max has it in for, but the clergy, and I'm 100% with him on that. Il Mucchio hasn't been a purely music magazine for decades now, and it positions itself in an uncomfortable way: I don't share all of Max's "vision", nor perhaps his language, but it's an undeniable fact that this kind of approach is one of the magazine's distinguishing traits. If it's been going on like this since the Eighties, and Il Mucchio is still around and still sells reasonably well, then yes, I really do think it works in its favour.

Don't you think it was a bit two-faced to go back to Il Mucchio once the Velvet venture failed, given that it was precisely against that magazine (and the company Essediemme) that you had openly declared war and competed? And with Il Mucchio Extra, aren't you trying to find yet another way to break free from Stéfani once again?

Left to my own devices I would never have knocked on Il Mucchio's door again; I went back – after long rounds of clearing the air – because Max asked me to and gave me clear guarantees that I could work in a substantially autonomous way, barring the legitimate, sacrosanct back-and-forth of debate. From 1996 to now there have been a few clashes, which I think is only natural given both our rather strong personalities, but essentially that promise has been kept. Extra is a magazine I devised myself, published, like Il Mucchio, by Stemax; I run it without interference, and I don't see why I should need to break free from anything – I'm perfectly happy as things are.

I imagine you see yourself as an authoritative critic. Where does that authority come from? Is it more a matter of experience or analytical ability?

Having said that I'd rather be described as a "good journalist" than an "authoritative critic", I think that authority stems from the fact that people recognize my experience and musical knowledge, combined with analytical skill and a certain readability in my writing. Obviously that doesn't make me infallible - far from it - but having lived through the last thirty years of rock and its surroundings intensely and from a privileged vantage point, and above all continuing to do so with my feet firmly planted in the present, should lend me some credibility.

Have you ever received "pressure" from labels to give an album a positive review?

If "pressure" includes non-binding requests for favours, that happens more or less every day: "can you help me out?" is a classic line from labels, distributors and press offices. These days, though, what's usually requested isn't so much positive reviews as reviews at all - maybe reviews given more prominence than others - and interviews. That's normal, I don't see anything strange in it. To a lesser extent, though, I've also seen retaliation - in the form of withheld advertising purchases - for negative reviews. As far as I'm concerned, nobody has ever offered me money or threatened me... and if at times I've been more lenient than perhaps I should have been, it was out of excessive generosity, maybe due to my overall appreciation of an artist's or a label's body of work.

How do you see the future of music journalism? What will be the medium of choice (webzines, blogs, print magazines, TV, web radio, etc.)? And, if it survives, how do you think "traditional" media will need to change, whether print magazines or those webzines still more oriented toward that model?

Music journalism will essentially live online, making greater use of the interactive possibilities inherent to the medium. I doubt print magazines will disappear entirely: they'll certainly shrink in number and focus more on in-depth coverage and on providing a "reasoned filter" for the overwhelming amount of music in circulation.

Contributors: Claudio Fabretti, Antonio Ciarletta, Francesco Nunziata, Salvatore Setola, Marco Bercella, Gabriele Benzing, Gianni Candellari, Lorenzo Salzano.

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