From River Plate to Rock Star: The Juan Antonio Story

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Urban Pitch

·9 September 2025

From River Plate to Rock Star: The Juan Antonio Story

Countless kids dream of becoming pro footballers or rock stars when they grow up. Juan Antonio got to do both.

If there was ever such thing as an “ordinary” rock star, Juan “Iñaki” Antonio would be far from it. A former professional footballer whose career saw stops at River Plate, Brescia, Sampdoria, Parma, and elsewhere, Antonio has found a new calling after injuries ended his playing days: rock ‘n’ roll.

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His unique background has drawn music lovers in Argentina to pay attention to his band, Francia 98, a nod to the iconic 1998 France World Cup. The group features Antonio on vocals and guitar, his brother Danilo on bass, Agustín “Coco” Nieto on second guitar, and Joaquín Bonazzola on drums.

The band is preparing to release their third studio album and continues to tour the Argentine rock circuit. In a candid conversation, Antonio reflects on the decision to hang up his boots in 2015 at the age of 27, revisits his early days at River Plate, playing alongside talents like Sergio Agüero and Angel Di Maria on Argentina’s U-17 side, and recounts his experiences in Italy, as well as the influences that shaped him both on and off the field.

One Star Fades, Another is Born

Urban Pitch: You’ve previously said that your music career started after just one night of writing. How was that process of leaving soccer to suddenly decide one night to dedicate yourself to music?

Since I was a kid, my two great passions were soccer and music. At school or with friends, my life revolved around playing ball or strumming the guitar. Soccer naturally became my profession, while music stayed on pause, like a love on hold. For years, I dedicated myself fully to my sports career, but I always knew I would eventually return to that other path.

When I felt soccer no longer gave me the same fulfillment, I started giving space to music, this time with the idea of making it more “terrestrial,” of building something real from that passion. The process was very different. In soccer, things just carried me along, but in music, I had to do it independently, step by step. I learned how to write songs, explore instruments, and imagine what life could be like as a musician.

Today, after more than 10 years on this path, it was only last year that a turning point arrived with the signing of a record deal. That step marked the start of a new stage, where music is no longer just a personal refuge but also a real professional opportunity.

How did your family, friends, and the people from soccer react when you decided to leave your sports career to dedicate yourself to music?

It was a difficult process because I hadn’t given many signals. I just made the decision overnight. My agent at the time, Filippo Colasanto — who is now a great friend — struggled to understand it. My family didn’t take it easily either, especially my dad, who, like any parent, wanted the best for me and saw the change as very risky.

Over time, he came around, and today, I think what makes him happiest is seeing me content. My mom, on the other hand, from the very beginning had a protective energy, that “always backing you” motherly energy. My brother supported me from day one because he also wanted to pursue music, and together we ended up forming the band.

But the one who struggled the most was me. When I left soccer, I fell into a deep depression, with panic attacks that lasted more than two years. I didn’t understand why if, in theory, I was following my passion. A doctor later explained it to me: the body also needs to adapt to such a big change.

For 16 years, I had gotten up every day to train, run, and kick the ball, and suddenly all of that disappeared. My biology didn’t understand it: I had too much free time, I wasn’t tired, and I missed that daily craft that was soccer. It took almost three years for my body to assimilate and accept this new path. Though some take less time, depression after leaving soccer is very common among players.

Many soccer players say they feel “lost” when they retire because they are in their mid-30s or early 40s, yet musicians like the Rolling Stones or Madonna are performing into their 60s and 80s.

I hadn’t really thought about it, but what you say gives me some peace of mind. Because yes, it’s horrible. Change is something beautiful, but it’s hard for everyone, and for me, it was very hard. Who knows why, maybe because I was so tied to the profession. You never fully understand it. The good thing is that life always gives you a second chance. That saying, “no hay mal que dure cien años” (nothing bad lasts 100 years), I repeated to myself every day, and in the end, everything fell into place and I was able to move forward.

Alexi Lalas, former U.S. national team player, said that when he went abroad, the guitar became his best companion because it helped him in new places where he didn’t know the language or the people. In your case, when you played in Italy and moved between cities, was music also that companion throughout the process?

Yes, exactly. When you go away and face difficulties, I think we try to hold onto abstract things. For me, being far from home, and also because social life can be challenging sometimes, music connects you directly to a place where you feel good. It’s a kind of abstract energy, but harmless. You’re at peace. That’s why I spent so much time in that space, and it created a big love for music — because the guitar, or really music itself, gives you that space of tranquility. It’s like meditation: some people knit, others cook, everyone finds their own way to be at peace. Mine was always through music.

Tell us a bit about the band. How would you describe your musical style for someone who’s never heard your songs? In other words, how would you sell the band?

Here’s the thing: In Argentina, music and culture were beautiful. I’m talking about when I was around 18, a little older, when I arrived in Buenos Aires. The music and culture in Argentina and Latin America at the time were rich and recognized even worldwide.

Later, I went to Italy and started another life, but there was kind of a collapse in the music scene — something not only I noticed, but also great Argentine artists, like Fito Páez, have pointed out. It’s not about taste, it’s about genuine standards: a lot of what was valuable got lost, and other rhythms started dominating.

When my brother and I decided to form a band, the idea was to go back to making songs that reflected what had been good for us and the world. Argentina had a period famous for tango and a huge number of artists, despite historical hardships like the dictatorship.

So we focused on making songs: they may or may not be popular, but we drew inspiration from the great Argentine musicians. We want to tell something, not repeat words endlessly, and we want our music to have harmony, rhythm, and melody. It’s about respect and care for a tradition we’ve grown up with in Argentina, one that was once undervalued.

Curiously, that was going to be my next question: Argentina has been a very rock-oriented country for many years, with great musicians like Charly Garcia and Fito Páez, and bands with their own styles like Los Piojos, Los Pericos, or Los Fabulosos Cadillacs. Plus, there have always been international influences, like The Police, Eric Clapton, or The Stones. How do you see today’s music industry, in Argentina and generally, especially considering you’ve said that some core elements of music have been lost?

I’ll quote a friend of mine, not famous, but who said something very true: Art functions as a mirror. It’s neither good nor bad; it just reflects. If we look back at past eras, like tango, the songs told stories and had cultural depth. They were part of a context in which Argentines were more cultured, certain things were taught in schools, and there was respect for traditions, like grandma’s cooking. Everything was connected: art was in the streets and mirrored the country’s richness.

Over time, there has been undeniable decline — culturally, politically — as if the state were sick in several facets. This has caused art to reflect that deterioration, and the struggles that society has suffered and continues to suffer. I don’t blame the artists or the industry; it’s just that the mirror we see today is a result of the situation we’re in.

Talking about live experience and Argentina’s rock culture, what has been your most memorable tour or performance so far, and how did you experience it?

Well, this year has been very positive for us, like a lid has been lifted off a pot. We’re playing in many places, and in Argentina, they’re already calling us to perform in some provinces, which is a big achievement considering the competition. I think opening doors in Argentina can also open doors for the rest of Latin America. Buenos Aires and Argentina have a lot of rock, and people carry it inside: when you show it to them, they sing along. There’s a need to revive that feeling, and I get the sense good times are coming.

Being a former soccer player and now working in music, which environment do you think is harder, soccer or music, and why?

Good question. I haven’t gone far enough in music to fully know, but I can tell you that soccer is pretty complicated. It has this peculiarity that many important decisions are made by people who have never even kicked a ball. It’s like me saying, “You won’t eat this dish, but I, the head chef, decide how it’s made,” without ever tasting it. Something similar happens in soccer: it’s very strange.

With music, I get the feeling it’s not easy either, but I don’t have the full perspective yet. Maybe in a few years I can give a more serious answer, when I really see what I feel about music.

A Career Full of Moments

You started your career at River Plate, a huge club in South America and the world. How were those beginnings, and what does it mean to you to have debuted professionally at such a club, especially being so young?

Yes, it was very beautiful and rewarding. I think I realized its magnitude over time. At first, I didn’t grasp how big River was in the world; you notice it more when you leave the country. I remember playing at Sampdoria and people would say, “Wait, you played at River?” For me, Sampdoria was already a big club, but River’s scale is enormous. It’s like half a country concentrated in two teams: Boca and River. Both have produced countless players, and from that football perspective, the respect is immense.

You debuted under Daniel Passarella. How was it to have a coach with his trajectory give you your debut? Not everyone gets a World Cup-winning captain as their coach, and Passarella was known as strict. How did you experience that mix of respect and challenge?

I’m very grateful to him for giving me the debut and betting on me. He saw me in training, and even though I was very young, I showed courage: I would take on big defenders from Parma, fall, and get back up. I think he valued not only my skill but also my hunger and determination as a kid from the South.

When he had me play my first game, he trusted me. I didn’t have much continuity due to injuries, but I always valued that first opportunity. Although my story at River didn’t end perfectly and I played little, that experience taught me the effort and discipline needed for high-performance soccer. When I got to Italy, at Brescia, I was on trial for a month, running and being pushed to the limit without knowing what would happen. Only after a month did they sign me. I owe much of that to what I learned at River. Nothing is given away there.

You shared the pitch with Marcelo Gallardo, Ariel Ortega, Sergio Aguero, and Papu Gómez. Do you still keep in touch with any of them, or has that connection faded?

Well, the other day I sent Ortega a short message. I’m not close friends with them, but I know if I saw, for example, Muñeco (Gallardo), we’d hug. Some became very famous, and I’m on a different path, so to speak.

I have a very good relationship with several ex-teammates, like Maxi López, whom I also spoke to recently, and Sergio Romero, the national team goalkeeper. I think I always got along better with those who had a lower profile; maybe that’s why it’s easier for me to maintain those connections. I’m not sure why, but at least for me, that’s how it is.

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In Italy, which club do you feel you had your best period? You played at Sampdoria, Brescia where you scored three goals, and other teams with less continuity. Tell us a bit about living in Italy, including its culture and gastronomy, which must feel close to Argentina in many ways.

Yes, Italy was spectacular when I arrived. I remember my first meal: my agent, whom I didn’t know well at the time, said, “Do you want to try some pasta?” and I said yes. From that first plate, I was blown away by the quality of Italian cuisine. I don’t know if I’ve found anything like it elsewhere.

From an energetic point of view, it reminded me of my mom’s cooking, which is incredible, but the products and seasonings in Italy — unmatched. The drinks are great too: prosecco, for example, with its little bubbles, is delicious, and the desserts are incredible. In Italy, people talk, share, and savor meals together. It’s a way of life.

As far as playing wise, I think the best of me during my time in Italy was Brescia when we were in Serie B. That season I had a great year, then I was sold, but had I stayed at Brescia, I could have gone to a bigger club than Sampdoria.

There was a good dressing room, I was close to being named captain, things were going well. But things turned out the way they did.

Times are changing for both music and soccer. Which of the two do you see better positioned for the future?

I don’t think they “crash” into each other — it’s not like soccer versus volleyball, or rock versus folklore. Both can follow their own paths and grow at their own pace. In music, you still need a lot of investment: if you’re starting, your parents may have to buy your first instrument and help you learn — it’s a more sophisticated process. In soccer, all you really need is a bunch of crumpled-up paper (for a ball).