pier_paolo_farina

It simply happened that Schroeder sought out the Pink Floyd (who knew nothing about him, after all, it was their debut) and offered them six hundred pounds each for a week of work in Paris. The broke Floyd jumped at the chance "... and we galloped happily and at full speed into the studio, throwing ourselves into it..." as David Gilmour later said. This is reported in dozens of books and biographies about the Pink Floyd... it's easy to find information; no "beginning of interest in Cinema" as you superficially claim.
Then Antonioni sought them out (having seen them on stage in London and being impressed by "Careful With That Axe, Eugene") and in turn hired them for "Zabriskie Point" practically to recreate it just like that, and not much else. Then Schroeder came back and re-hired them for the soundtrack of "La Vallèe". End (or rather, from there we jump two decades ahead to "The Wall").
You are right about "Cirrus Minor": it is splendid, a masterpiece. Especially Wright's performance. But also the "borrowings" from the remarkable sound effects tape of Abbey Road is sublime, and there must have been the involvement of Mason and/or Waters, the two "architects". No external "pushes" on "Nile Song" or anything else on the album: the Floyd were given a free hand by the director, and after all, they self-produced on this occasion (for the first time).
And I'll stop here. You say you read a lot... it seems like a lie. You really enjoy writing... great, it’s either one of two things:
1) Simply describe your feelings... the effects of the music on you... the moments that touch you the most, excite you, or conversely bore or irritate you, without going into specifics, context, technique, or historical framework. This site is full of reviews that say nothing about an album, about how and why it was made, about how it sounds, about what the lyrics say... but they read wonderfully because they are small gems of the Italian language, of life stories, of enthusiasm.
2) Provide data, facts, and situations about the work, but at this point, you need to be knowledgeable; otherwise, you’ll get commenters like me who will critique everything and conclude that you definitely often wrote things about yourself, describing events and situations quite different from what is historically set down, black on white.
Of course, there is also a third way (which I'm almost certain you will continue to favor): writing a bunch of random things as they come, right or wrong, for the sacred and banal pleasure of seeing yourself immortalized on a nice website of music enthusiasts (accompanied by idiots, layabouts, and trolls as in any respectable site).

The extraordinary works of Genesis, once Gabriel left, boil down to just one: this album.
"Wind and Wuthering" is definitely inferior, containing in my opinion the two masterpieces "One for the Vine" and "Blood on the Rooftops," but also too many fillers (the instrumentals, the silly "Your Own Special Way"...).
Gabriel and the other Genesis members came to blows precisely because he, pumped up by the theatrical and visual dimension he had established in the concerts with notable feedback, at that point wanted to be the boss, meaning he filled the repertoire with endless lyrics, compressing the other four to mere accompaniment for his ramblings.
"The Lamb..." is imperfect and critiquable for this very reason, even though it contains gems like "The Lamia," "Anyway," etc.
You can see this in Peter's solo career and concerts: nine times out of ten, his band holds a groove for minutes while he rambles, recites, argues, laments.
And this is the true Gabriel, essentially a failed drummer (he was, when very young). Much interest in rhythm, sounds, even experimental, but weak melodies and "dark" whiny music. Not my passion.
My passion lies in the romantic and symphonic insights of that unpleasant and treacherous Banks, adorned with the beautiful cherries on the cake that Hackett knew how to add (in the brief period between the onset of form ("Foxtrot") and the frustrated pulling of the chain (The Lamb...).

Gabriel was never the leader of Genesis.
In the beginning, he was one of the four that mattered, roughly divided into two pairs: Rutherford/Phillips on one side and Banks/Gabriel on the other.
Then Phillips left, and the bosses became two, Banks and Gabriel, with Rutherford stepping back without a partner.
Hackett was respected but never considered on par with the two bosses and the almost-boss, eventually frustrated and pushed to leave.
Drummers never counted for much, until Collins got the horns from Andrea and, as a disastrous reaction, blossomed as a songwriter, gaining points within the group (reduced at that point to a trio), until he became the new leader when "In the Air Tonight" unfortunately exploded in the world, lifting the man in question to an undeserved artistic empyrean, allowing him to infest the eighties and nineties with a certain shallow and vacuous way of making pop, unfortunately extending even to his old and powerful progressive band, which quickly transformed into a purveyor of pop songs, with the enthusiastic endorsement of his partner Banks, happy to make a lot of money throwing down four chords instead of just doing what was right but producing pure folk art.
On another note: "Squonk" came before "Los Endos," hard to keep up with your reasoning regarding this. "Los Endos" is a "Finale" with all the main themes of the album, sewn together in an eminently percussive session instinctively sprung in the studio. It has always worked very well live; in the studio, I believe it’s the least interesting track on this splendid album, but that’s just a personal opinion.
I find that you review with little willingness and application… laziness? Sufficiency? Mischievousness? A pure desire to see people pay attention to you (even insulting you, only to thank them effusively and Catholic-like without delving into the merits).

I'm fond of America. Their first two albums are excellent. I appreciate Bunnell's voice, hieratic and understated, his dry, rhythmic strumming. Less so the whining of his bandmate, although he does have some pretty good McCartney-esque insights. They've been a bit battered... for decades now. Washed-out pop and a loss of personality as the arrangements have thickened. They were strong in the beginning, with their West Coast sound, good harmonies, and a consistent melodic vein. A great review, candid and honest.

I take this opportunity for a little coming out, asserting that this album is undoubtedly important, artistic, symbolic, peculiar, a milestone, historical... but it's not that irresistible after all.
I find two or three genuinely stunning tracks… certainly "Astronomy..." and "Interstellar," for goodness' sake.
Poor Syd in those days was a real stud and a unique creative mind, but let's face it, he didn't always produce gems: the exquisite dada-pop vein of "Arnold Layne" and "See Emily Play" unfortunately dried up too early, and it's not that this album, nor his solo releases, are filled with constellations of ideas and musical passages that leave one speechless.
Every enthusiast has their musical idols, their albums that changed everything for them. I have plenty, but this debut from Pink Floyd is not among them, which I consider excellent but without feeling particular affection, respect, or enthusiasm for it.

Wow. Huge album.
The minimalist and twilight organ of Graham Fields is atmospheric at its highest power.
The deep and powerful voice of the bassist is thrilling and alive.
The curious and meandering minuets of the electric pianist.
Full of melody, rhythm, and Nordic refuge.
Among the best progressive albums I know.

Simply extraordinary. They and their cousins, the Doobie Brothers (more populist and less convoluted, but equally multifaceted and brilliant), form the quintessential Californian duo of good music.

Slash is one of the best rock guitarists around. His asshole face does not match his evidently big and generous heart, as he constantly conveys unusual vigor and passion through his music. A guitarist almost entirely devoid of peculiarities (he has absorbed them all from Page down, without recycling them in any particular way), he is loved for the whirlwind approach and admirable conviction with which he grips the neck of his guitar and strums the strings, sending back into circulation the beloved old hard rock of the seventies, only slightly touched by the metal nuances of his eighties generation.
Having been the only reason for me to endure the overrated Guns & Roses and especially their shrill vocalist, now that he has settled down with excellent colleagues and has managed to stabilize his life trying to reach old age by playing instead of smoking and indulging in everything and dying on stage, I willingly follow him. Nothing special, mind you... a few inspired riffs, torrential pentatonic solos with variations, many stereotypes, but the passion, desire, and commitment are worthy of great respect.
The singing of his partner Kennedy may not appeal due to his dramatic and tormented timbre, for the vocal lines he chooses which are indeed nothing special, but technically he is simply spectacular; especially considering he’s now in his fifties. I will buy this album... rock is almost dead, and I feel obliged not to overlook any of its current last flashes of quality (like, besides Slash: Greta Van Fleet, Blackberry Smoke, Bonamassa, Thunder, Wishbone Ash, Widespread Panic).

Are you listening to Greta Van Fleet these days?
For people like us, their music creates blinding déjà vu, overwhelming hits of nostalgia and strangeness.
I listen to them and I see myself 48 years ago in front of a hi-fi and record shop window, peeking at the displayed 45 RPM of "Whole Lotta Love," with a photo of them on stage with Plant in a maroon velvet suit on the cover.

Stunning. Among his five best albums.
The voice is gone, but the genius brain and the golden hands on the Yamaha (beautifully miked by the producer) are there to enchant.