I apologize in advance for this being a review of my own feelings about the album rather than about the album itself. Pretty much par for the course for my reviews, now that I think about it.
There are five-star albums, and then there are albums like this, which hold a special place in my heart. I somehow bought this when I was 11 years old. Songs like "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", "All the Young Girls Love Alice", and "The Ballad of Danny Bailey (1909–34)" didn't make much sense to me back then. But I would put this on, open the album, and dissolve into a completely different world. When I heard this again just now, I was transported in my head back to my bedroom as a kid, lost in music, not really caring about the meaning.
The music transcends words. This is how great art always affects me. I WANT to tell you about it. I want you to understand its value emotionally, sensorially, musically, and in a thousand other ways that change my experience—some of which have English words, most don't. But the ability to communicate art's a priori nature lies exclusively in the experience of it. Which is both frustrating and fantastic. I will probably end up saying this again, and I wanted to mention it when I wrote about "Band on the Run" (another album that lives in the same place as this): analyzing art robs it of the deep joy that comes from experiencing it.
Check out the original album on vinyl if possible: every song has the lyrics and an illustration; it's an amazing package. Some part of the album experience is the package, the manipulation of the disc on your stereo, moving the needle JUST SO onto the groove at the beginning before the actual music starts... ah, good times!
"Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" is fascinating, humorous, sad, multi-dimensional, deep and broad, engaging, weird, fun, cool, bold and meek, familiar and mysterious all at the same time. And for reasons I just can't put into words, it really means a lot to me.