At thirteen, Fernando Campillo bought his first records, "the first by Led Zeppelin and one by Ted Nugent." That was the start. "I'm a frustrated musician, I would have loved to play in a band that released amazing albums," he jokes at the bar, savoring an afternoon Dry Martini while letting the bar's clientele accompany the conversation, like a spontaneous, natural, and unrepeatable soundtrack.
What happens is that, in a way, this agitator born in '61 did get to live that dream, albeit from another position: that of a fan who, with his work, persistence, and effort, makes beautiful things happen and makes the artists who go on stage, or who enter a recording studio, shine with even more brilliance. "I owe all this to Los Negativos," he states regarding the band that marked a categorical turning point in 80s Barcelona pop, thanks especially to their albums Picnic caleidoscópico and 18º sábado amarillo. "They opened the doors to me from the beginning and with them I have traveled, experienced recordings, countless concerts, edited fanzines and met wonderful people from all over." In short, making that dream of living in a vibrant musical world come true, adding color from the shadows, "without being in the center, but I don't like to be in the photo, I'm too shy."
The regular's trajectory is, in this sense, intimately linked to Los Negativos, for whom he now, after ten arduous years of work, finally manages to premiere the documentary Graduados en underground, directed by Víctor Carrey and produced and promoted by Fernando and members of the band. The idea started with the death of the bassist, Alfredo Calonge, in 2014. "That's when we started," and it closes now, a few months after the disappearance of the drummer, Valentín Morató. "It was a tremendous blow, because he was very involved in the project and would have loved to see the final result." It premieres this Friday the 25th at Mooby Aribau, as part of the In-Edit Festival.
In parallel, he is already working "on a compilation that will cover the group's trajectory from its origins and will be titled Cóctel violeta, and on the script for another documentary dedicated to Ringo Julián, to highlight the transcendence that this total artist had in the underground of our city."
The best fanzine name in the world
Fernando's adolescence orbited between the Libertarian Youth of the CNT ---"I gave Federica Montseny two kisses", he boasts--- and R&R. "With some friends, we had a band, Valium, with whom we did covers of the Stooges, MC5, or Amboy Dukes. But the truth is that apart from getting into trouble, messing around, and emulating Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, we didn't do much," he laughs.
A few weeks before going to military service, he met Isabel. "I immediately knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that girl. And here we are, more than four decades later." They became a couple, but also friends, accomplices, and she has never stopped being by his side in everything Fernando has built. "We have had unbeatable companions on this journey: Javier Anta Tutti, Josep Lluís Navarro, Víctor López, Ringo Julián, and, of course, Los Negativos."
In 1987, he launched Ansia de Color, a fanzine that, in addition to having the best name for an underground publication in the world ("Quim, from the group Orgullo de España, suggested it to us"), was the catalyst, during its two decades of history, for an eclectic music scene, where the rawest punk rock, the most baroque psychedelia, the most visceral R&R, and the most crystalline pop all fit. An editorial activity that the parishioner accompanied with the release of records by contemporary bands, thanks to the contacts he has maintained since the early 80s with artists and agitators from all over the world. "Gerry Mohr, Greg Prevost, Rudi Protrudi" and an extensive etcetera of friends forever.
Citizen of the world and of Barcelona
Hardened in an explosive Barcelona, though not always in the good sense of the word, Fernando lived in a city full of ideas and voices, "with publishers like Star Books or magazines like Popular1", but also of violence and bad streets. He made his way in that jungle painted in quinqui blood red, countercultural colors, and late-Francoist gray "talking to everyone, looking for a way to understand each other." Over the years and with persistence, he has become an indispensable figure, however much he insists on downplaying his merits, to understand the musical underground of this city from which, paradoxically, he claims to currently feel excluded.
"The postmodernity that little by little, since the 90s, has been taking over Barcelona, is killing its personality. The city is overcrowded and the neighborhoods have lost their combative character, their personality," he laments. And he finishes the last sip of his Dry Martini, before concluding: "I, who do not believe in flags, who have no homeland, no God, no king, have always considered myself a citizen of the world… and a Barcelonian!"
--- Homeland, God, and king perhaps not, but surely after this Dry Martini what you have is hunger, in case you fancy having something for dinner…
Fernando Campillo bursts out laughing.
"That I do have!" he replies happily, while asking to take a look at the menu, to see what's good today.