I was going to respond to some of the points in a few of the excellent reviews like Bills, but I've probably already prattled on more than enough for most and what my opinions are on the use of diminished chords (tldr: RH use interesting a times but not in the same league as others) and atonality (tldr: have over the last 30 years come to the conclusion Schoenberg was talking through his arse) herein are probably moot at this point. So I'll demure and focus on something that has struck me reading all the comments.
It's been a lively discussion with a pretty widely distributed range of opinions and scores and lots of people have had very interesting things to say both for and against the album. Which leads me to wonder....
If the internet/www had existed in it's current form in 1997 would this album have been as successful? This came out at a time when Navigator had yet to be killed off by Internet Explorer, the very first iteration of Google had just launched, the smartphone didn't exist, the first iteration of Napster was 2 years away and though there were music forums on the likes of AOL many people were still barely online. Given all that I think people forget how influential print critics/journalists and music magazines and papers were back in the day and how much the record labels engaged with them. Whatever you think of this record it's hard to argue that the championing it got didn't contribute to it's success. But if people were more focused on their own and peer opinion rather than the press would it's trajectory have been different?
I know the mixed reception it's had on here this week is the result of looking back through a lens of nearly 30 years and it's entirely possible that the virtues championed by those promoting it would still have resulted in the same level of success but I do wonder.
I think it was just a function of thinking "this is music for a person I am not, and never was. This is music for types I've never hung out with, and who are younger than I am." It really does come down to having no time for no hope.
All these reviews both good and bad have made me wonder had I been ten years younger, in school, more worried about the future, high regularly, more frequently bored, angrier and/or depressed more often, would I have liked it? I still don't think so but there'd likely have been a better chance.
Speaking for myself I've never been that interested in whether a record is massively successful or not. It doesn't matter to me. I hear something and if it resonates with me I explore it further.
For me it has to be musically interesting, that is the main criteria, lyrics are not that important (but I do love the lyrics in Norwegian Wood).
When I heard "Paranoid Android" on the radio I was very interested in it. It sounded complex (and it is).
Anyway Foggy...I wasn't a snotty student at odds with the world or some spaced out Goth type smoking loads of dope and hating the bourgeoise. I was a happily married guy with 2 young kids and a very good well paid job.
Musically PA is complex, but great.
Even the intro section to PA is awesome.
Without getting too boringly technical the opening acoustic passage opens on Cminor, moving to Cminor7th the F7 added 9th resolving on Gminor but then Gminor added 9th, each 9th chord has a diminished 5th (tritone).
This is great. These lads have studied music.
The interesting thing is every word Thom sang is on the offbeat;
Please could you stop the noise?
I'm tryna get some rest
From all the unborn chicken
Voices in my head
Every word is between the 4 beats (to a bar), giving us = Syncopation. Which I always like. This opening section to PA shows knowledge and technical ability, setting RH apart from seemingly everything I was hearing on the radio (since Prog) unless you listen to Jazz stations.
Anyhow just that opening passage, which was the first RH I ever heard is a lightyear away from Oasis, I'm not knocking Oasis, they wrote some great songs but nothing that interested me, just straight CFG7 kinda stuff.
Anyway, an attempt to explain myself and why I like this album.