Francesca Naibo is a versatile and eclectic guitarist. In addition to her classical training, she pursued advanced studies in contemporary music and improvisation with Elena Casoli, Fred Frith, and Alfred Zimmerlin at the Universities of Bern and Basel. Over the course of her career, she has collaborated with artists such as Helmut Lachenmann, Marc Ribot, and George Lewis. In this conversation, we will explore her artistic journey, with particular attention to the theme of free improvisation.
Ed. note: The first part of this conversation was published in 2021 in Guitart magazine.
Thank you, Francesca, for joining us.
Namatoulee is the title of your first solo work. How did the musical ideas on the album come into being, and how do they relate to the titles you chose?
The album contains fourteen improvisations that I created in the recording studio. All the ideas were born at the very moment I recorded them. Free improvisation does not rely on a written score; instead, it draws upon the transience of the instant and its unrepeatable energy. It is a tremendous challenge for the musician, because you put everything at stake without filters, fully aware that what you create is destined to be irreproducible—except through recording. It is a deeply intimate dimension that compels you to reflect profoundly on the very meaning of our instrument and of music in general. When recording Namatoulee, I gave myself only one “rule”: the pieces should not exceed five or six minutes. I wanted to offer listening experiences that were accessible to everyone and to remain essential rather than verbose. I also tried to limit the use of effects or preparations in each track, so as to create small, independent sonic worlds. This organization was reflected in the tracklist through words from a non-existent language, simply by choosing phonemes that described what I had played and combining them like a kind of acoustic Lego. I wanted to give listeners titles that would not suggest images or stories—only the sonic content they were about to hear.
I have always thought of improvisation as the art that transforms the musician into a constant researcher of new sonic material, bringing together the roles of performer and composer. Over the course of your career, you have engaged with many different musical experiences. How has your approach to studying the instrument changed since dedicating yourself to improvisation?
As I moved closer to improvisation, my practice split into two areas: repertoire study and improvisation study. However, these two spheres are not impermeable; on the contrary, they often influence and contaminate one another, with very satisfying results. When I study repertoire, I enjoy exploring different interpretative possibilities and varied sound qualities, so that practice does not become a mere repetition of gestures and written indications. Technique also benefits from improvisational freshness: I always try to combine exercises with simple rhythmic, dynamic, and timbral variations, so that daily practice remains stimulating. When I practice improvisation, I alternate sessions without predefined goals—developing ideas that emerge from a spontaneous approach to the guitar on a given day—with others that are planned over longer time spans. I may decide to devote a week or more to a specific sound (such as a particular pedal or a certain preparation), or to study how to shape an improvisation within a specific duration. I love exploring unusual tunings that I invent myself, learning to navigate the freedom of a new orientation across the fretboard and enjoying harmonies that would otherwise be impossible to obtain. My approach to improvisation is strongly influenced by an academic mindset, with all the care, discipline, and depth of exploration that entails. I believe it is important to study extended techniques and effects with the same seriousness and precision that slurs and barre chords require. For improvisation, I have chosen mainly to use the electric guitar, thanks to the expanded sonic possibilities it offers. I find it exciting to observe how my two instruments—classical and electric—make me focus on different aspects while influencing one another: on the former, I can imagine powerful and enveloping sounds; on the latter, I can work with microscopic sounds. In both cases, I deepen and mature the contact of both hands with the string and explore the instrument’s physicality in different ways.
As a performer, I have noticed that improvisation can sometimes lead to an “excess of freedom,” opening up many paths without knowing which choice is the right one. Given the vast number of effects available today, the possibilities are infinite. How do you base your sonic research and reintroduce it in performance? Do you set limits when selecting effects, or do you prefer an extemporaneous result?
Generally, I prefer not to set limits. By nature, I like having everything under control, but through improvisation I began to explore a territory I did not know: the freshness of immediacy, the energy that precedes and springs from a gesture, the strength of an unexpected event—qualities that are harder to experience with the same intensity in a planned act.
Improvising on an instrument is a natural and instinctive gesture; in many European countries, improvisation is also an educational activity that helps children approach the world of music. You combine your role as performer with that of teacher. Do you think this discipline has educational value for younger generations?
Absolutely. I became interested in improvisation eleven years ago; since then, I have studied extensively with outstanding teachers. I would like to emphasize that “improvisation is not improvised”—to quote the famous statement by Giancarlo Schiaffini—it is studied. It is a path that requires time, practice, patience, and development; it would be extremely reductive to reduce it to “you can do whatever you want.” I believe that the 21st-century musician needs to search for a deeply personal voice, a process that also unfolds through playfulness, instrumental exploration, and intense listening. I have been teaching for many years and have always included small exercises in my lessons—useful for warming up or closing a lesson creatively—as well as entire teaching units and workshops. They can be offered at any age, but I find children up to eleven particularly receptive and instinctive: their lack of prejudice toward unfamiliar sounds makes them very open. The most astonishing result I see in young students is the development of better listening—not only to musical pieces, but also to the sounds of the guitar and of the surrounding world. Those who continue their studies gain greater conviction in everything they play—because intention becomes conscious and profound—and a sense of enjoyment in both practice and performance that I find essential for falling in love with the guitar and with music day after day.
Francesca, we resume this dialogue after many years. Since Namatoulee, you have recorded a great deal of music: Correspondances Vol. 1 and 2 with José Dias, Opal with Maddalena Ghezzi, and above all your second solo album, So Much Time. This latest work explores time and its meaning—an important step, considering it was written between 2020 and 2022—and above all, it establishes a dialogue between your voice and your instrument.
What has changed for you from Namatouleeto today? Do you feel that your work with the instrument has undergone a transformation?
I feel that many things have evolved, thanks to the numerous experiences I have had over the past five years, which coincide with the beginning of my recording activity. I have devoted myself to very different projects, with the desire to experiment and avoid repeating myself too much, while maintaining a personal and recognizable sound. A significant change since Namatoulee occurred in 2020, when I began exploring a new instrument: a magnificent 1966 Gibson Barney Kessel. Compared to the Godin Kingpin 5th Avenue I used for Namatoulee (and still play), the Gibson offers two pickups (also usable out of phase), a Bigsby, an extraordinary sound, and substantial dimensions—it is a 17-inch guitar. With So Much Time, I channeled the research that had begun with the first album and was further nourished by the arrival of the new guitar and by Ramble Records’ request to produce the record. Rather than making a second album of free improvisations, I decided to create a true concept album. So Much Time explores time in all its facets: distant time emerging from faded memories, time flowing at different speeds, compressed and expanded time, cyclical time, layered time made of experiences and events. It is autobiographical, containing traces of my present, past, and future. I revisited family photo albums, videotapes, and audiocassettes preserved at my parents’ home. The album creates a three-voice dialogue: the guitar, my childhood voice (from recordings made when I was eight to ten years old), and my adult voice.
Recording an album means fixing sound permanently—almost the opposite of improvisation. Do you see a contradiction between these two choices?
No. We are fortunate to have technologies that allow us to listen again to wonderful improvisations from different eras. Would it not be a shame if new generations could not hear anything recorded by Derek Bailey, in the name of purity? In his book Improvisation: Its Nature and Practice in Music, Bailey addresses the issue of recording, noting the criticism that records alter the natural atmosphere of improvisation—the meeting of music with place and occasion. For me, recording is precisely about rendering that place and occasion: the solitude of the studio, the relationship with the sound engineer—my real audience—and with the imagined audience, past and future. And I must add: going into the recording studio is incredibly enjoyable, whatever music one wishes to record.
How do you choose the tracks and organize the material for a recording? Do you select entire takes, cut certain improvised sections, or prefer to combine different fragments?
My approach to this issue has changed considerably over the years, thanks to the experiences I have accumulated in the studio. For Namatoulee, the idea was largely to cut as little as possible; in fact, very few tracks underwent this kind of intervention.
With So Much Time, however, I found myself changing approach out of necessity. Although my initial intention was to maintain the same working method as before, I felt that for some pieces I wanted an improvisational foundation and then to structure the composition by adding parts or layers. For the first time, I was also working with pre-existing material—namely, the audiocassette recordings that I had patiently selected and edited before the recording sessions. My goal was to enter the studio with a wide range of fragments that I could juxtapose, superimpose, or contrast with the music.
In So Much Time, some tracks remained almost untouched after recording (such as Insistere and E se poi te ne penti?), but most of the pieces underwent a different kind of editing, driven by the music’s expressive needs. In any case, as with Namatoulee, I entered the studio for the second album without any clear idea of what would emerge from the two recording days, in order to preserve an attitude of freshness and receptivity that almost always allows me to make the most of studio work.
We have noticed that your career has also expanded from an educational perspective, with the achievement of the Deep Listening® Teaching Certification. Would you like to tell us about this experience?
Deep Listening is a method conceived and developed by the American composer Pauline Oliveros. I first encountered her work during my studies in Basel and was deeply impressed by its strength and creative potential.
In 2021, I had the opportunity to participate in a Deep Listening Study Circle—a working group that every aspiring Deep Listening facilitator must create and lead during their training—together with Diana Lola Posani, who later translated some of Oliveros’s texts into Italian (published by Timeo). This was my first real contact with the practice itself, which is the most essential aspect of the approach. Although the activities took place remotely, I learned a tremendous amount and immediately felt how beneficial this practice was in my life, both musically and personally. Motivated by this enthusiasm, I later enrolled in the two official modules of the Center for Deep Listening, which attracts practitioners and aspiring facilitators from all over the world, and I completed the program. I am currently planning several Deep Listening workshops for next year, which will mark the tenth anniversary of Oliveros’s passing, especially for conservatory students. I believe it offers a valuable opportunity to focus on the very foundation of our work: sound and listening. The revolution of Deep Listening lies precisely in this: it is an approach for anyone interested in exploring the dimension of listening, and it unfolds through practical exercises, improvisations, and meditations involving three macro areas: traditional perceptual listening, listening through the body and movement, and listening through dreams. According to Pauline Oliveros, listening means “learning to expand the perception of sounds to include the entire space-time continuum of sound, embracing as much of its vastness and complexity as possible.” Deep Listening is also a creative practice, as it invites participants to find their own personal way of engaging with exercises and meditations, as well as to invent new exercises and text scores. Its practical and playful dimension makes the activities engaging, without diminishing the strong component of concentration that each session requires. Oliveros also described Deep Listening as a healing practice, as it fosters a profound connection between body and mind through sound and encourages heightened awareness of the present moment and of one’s own subjectivity.
Her revolutionary ideas also embrace the dimension of community, encouraging collective work and exchange. Oliveros stated that she was not interested in building her own career, but rather in building a community. In this sense, practicing Deep Listening can inspire younger generations of musicians to rethink the musical—and global—world beyond individualistic logic, reflecting on the place that music, sound, and human connections occupy in their lives.
You are also pursuing a PhD in “Languages of Improvisation in Contemporary Music” at Siena Jazz. How is this project progressing?
I am very happy to have embarked on this path at Siena Jazz, where the doctoral program is entirely dedicated to the languages of improvisation in contemporary music. The project began in December 2024 and will last three years, so I am still at an early stage. However, I have already explored many of the objectives I set for myself, and it is fascinating to observe how much can be discovered along the way. The title of my project is Am I Right? Exploring Guitar Handedness through Improvisation. It focuses on the asymmetry of gesture that is typical of the guitar, explored from the particular perspective of left-handed guitar playing, which concerns me personally. Starting from the study of the involvement of both hands in traditional and contemporary performance practice, I am investigating new gestural approaches that draw upon the presence and coordination of two limbs capable of dismantling the concept of a “strong hand,” turning asymmetry into fertile ground for sonic research. Naturally, this operation undermines the stability I built throughout my entire guitar training, which is based on a technique assigning precise roles to hands, arms, and fingers. I am particularly interested in examining the instability that arises from reversing established habits and performance practices, and I am applying this investigation to the field of free improvisation. Over time, of course, the initially uncontrolled system becomes in some way controlled, and the research can then reflect on the importance of control within the artistic process. Sound travels through both controlled gestures and unconscious movements, challenging the subtle boundary between what we consider acceptable or unacceptable, right or wrong. This research involves both traditional instruments and left-handed models of various types—classical, electric, and acoustic guitars—with the aim of producing results that are broadly applicable and of interest to the guitar community, both right- and left-handed.
Would you like to share some of your upcoming projects?
I can reveal a few projects that will be released starting in January 2026, and of which I am very proud. I recorded a duo album with the American cellist Theresa Wong in 2023, the result of a beautiful day of improvisation at Niton Lab in Barasso, immersed in a deeply stimulating concentration. Another project recorded at Niton Lab is also complete, though it had a long development process. It is titled Monologo addosso and is a collection of pieces composed on texts by the poet Elena Cornaggia. I worked together with the singers Maddalena Ghezzi and Beatrice Arrigoni, and we were fortunate to have Luca Martegani as producer. In this work, we employed a particular ensemble: three voices, electric guitar, and electronics. The nine pieces include fully composed works, open scores, and almost free improvisations, always maintaining close contact with the sounds and meanings of Elena’s poetry. Finally, I am refining the details of another release to which I feel deeply connected: a duo album with guitarist Simone Massaron. Our duo Kreis has been active for many years, and we felt the desire to engage with the studio recording of our free improvisations. It will be a year with many releases, and I could not be more satisfied.
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