Here’s the best “epic” song (lasting 10-plus minutes) from 10 classic progressive rock bands!
Progressive rock is all about challenging artists and audiences in several ways, not the least of which is seeing how lengthy and multifaceted a composition can be.
In contrast to most other genres (which stick to radio-friendly durations and structures), prog rock is known for producing “epics” that last dozens of minutes, consist of multiple sections/movements and explore in-depth narratives or topics. They often feature overtures/preludes, instrumental segues and recurring motifs, too!
READ MORE: The 10 Best Emo-Prog Bands of All Time
There’ve been tons of exceptional suites released by modern groups, including multiple ones from Dream Theater, Phideaux, Beardfish, Echolyn, Gazpacho, Porcupine Tree and Haken (to name a few). However, it’s usually the side-long or album-long pieces from 1970s pioneers who did it first and did it best.
That’s why we’re diving into the greatest “epic” song from 10 classic prog rock genre acts!
Most of them go for about 20 minutes, but a few last half or twice as long! Regardless, each is an awe-inspiring journey that exudes characteristically masterful imagination, boldness and dexterity.
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The Best ‘Epic’ Song by 10 Classic Prog Rock Bands
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Genesis, “Supper’s Ready”
The crowning achievement of Genesis’ catalogue, this 23-minute finale to 1972’s Foxtrot oozes stately musicianship, Biblical allusions, colorful lyricism and a typically theatrical performance from frontman Peter Gabriel.
It’s based on Gabriel’s personal life in conjunction with the Book of Revelation, and its tale of good vs. evil kicks off with tender singing alongside gorgeously serene acoustic guitar arpeggios and other light ornamentation (“Lover’s Leap”). It’s intoxicatingly pastoral, providing a dreamy foreword to the flamboyant and whimsical complexities of the next couple parts (courtesy of exceptional keyboard and guitar duo Tony Banks and Steve Hackett).
From there, Gabriel’s somber reaction to the aftermath of a battle leads into a delightfully quirky fairytale (“Willow Farm”), a mesmerizingly cataclysmic warning (“Apocalypse in 9/8”) and a modified reprise of the introduction. It’s a vibrant and celebratory way to end an infinitely exquisite and contemplative adventure.
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Rush, “2112”
As noted in our “History of Rush in 10 Songs” list, the seven-chapter title track to Rush’s fourth studio LP (from 1976) remains the peak of their prog/space rock period. (So, while it’s arguably rougher around the edges than, say, the “Cygnus X-1” duology, it still rises above them.) Borrowing ideas from Ayn Rand to configure its futuristic glimpse into “galaxy-wide war” and entertainment censorship, its ultra-popular first two segments (“Overture” and “The Temple of Syrinx”) are irresistibly playful, energetic and dynamic earworms.
Luckily, the rest of “2112” holds its own, with quiet acoustic ode “Discovery” and serene reflections “Oracle: the Dream” and “Soliloquy” guiding listeners into the high-octane full circle thrills of “Grand Finale.” Admittedly, it’s far from perfect – some of its pacing and ideas could be improved – but its raw and ambitious inexperience is also what’s allowed it to endure so well for nearly 40 years.
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Renaissance, “Song of Scheherazade”
There’ve been countless debates about whether English troupe Renaissance is really a progressive rock band (even certain members prefer tags such as “symphonic rock,” “classical rock” and/or “folk rock”). Yet, the vivid storytelling and beautifully demanding arrangements of “Song of Scheherazade” are just as deserving of inclusion as anything else we’re discussing here.
Expectedly (for a band called Renaissance), its introduction consists of glorious medieval fanfare (complete with agitated pianowork, frenzied percussion and bombastic orchestration from the London Symphony Orchestra). Then, the unparalleled voice of Annie Haslam – with support from bassist Jon Camp – commands the majestically forlorn tale of “The Sultan” before the piece seamlessly traverses various new bits of deliciously baroque instrumentation and elegant songwriting.
All the while, the group continuously switch between delicate tranquility and robust turmoil, making “Song of Scheherazade” a breathtaking method of beginning 1975’s aptly christened Scheherazade and Other Stories.
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Yes, “The Gates of Delirium”
By the time 1974’s Relayer rolled around, Yes had already knocked out several superb side-long suites (including the title track to 1972’s Close to the Edge and all four compositions on 1973’s divisive Tales from Topographic Oceans). That said, they outdid themselves on album opener “The Gates of Delirium,” which saw new keyboardist Patrick Moraz replacing Rick Wakeman and infusing some jazz fusion into their War and Peace-influenced saga.
Vocalist/lyricist Jon Anderson rightly described it as “a war song, a battle scene, but it’s not to explain war or denounce it. . . . There’s a prelude, a charge, a victory tune, and peace at the end, with hope for the future.” From its mystical prelude that brilliantly foreshadows repeating melodies (guitarist Steve Howe’s central riff is iconic!) and its exhilarating initial half, to its lusciously chaotic midway jam and much-loved call for reconciliation as it concludes (“Soon”), “The Gates of Delirium” is as powerful musically as it is emotionally. -
Van Der Graaf Generator, “A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers”
“A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers” embodies the avant-garde gloominess that coated a lot of Van Der Graaf Generator’s experimental, organ-and-saxophone-flavored opuses. As Bruce Dickinson told PROG magazine earlier this year, “If you were in pursuit of a girlfriend, by the time you’ve got about ten minutes into [it], she’s usually jumped out the window.”
Indeed, it’s a harrowing account of a lighthouse keeper who – as singer/pianist Peter Hammill once put it – feels remorseful (and perhaps suicidal) about “seeing people die . . . and not being able to help.” With touches of musique concrète and jazz throughout, its main motif glides beneath Hammill’s high-pitched lamentations with frightening abandonment. Assorted other timbres and verses punctuate the engrossing uncomfortableness and ironic friskiness, leading to a hauntingly nightmarish passage during which Hammill shrieks: “I know no more ways / I am so afraid / Myself won’t let me just be myself / And so I am completely alone.”
The latter half of “A Plague of Lighthouse Keepers” unfolds with equal parts relatable solace and sophisticated madness, and it’s difficult to think of a more fittingly audacious, unsettling and poignant means of closing 1971’s Pawn Hearts.
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Emerson, Lake & Palmer, “Tarkus”
The genre’s premier supergroup – well, at least until Transatlantic arrived three decades later – Emerson, Lake & Palmer stood out from their contemporaries due to their blatantly showy (if also cold and mechanical) playing and mix of sincere and silly subject matter. The title track to their sophomore sequence from 1971, “Tarkus” exhibits virtually everything admirers loved and critics admonished about the trio’s brand of prog rock.
Fans of the style and of kaiju face-offs should love “Tarkus” because it revolves around a Godzilla-esque showdown between the titular armadillo-tank creature and a manticore. Eventually, Tarkus even evolves into Aquatarkus! Granted, the piece is also said to be an allegory about the senselessness of combat, but its surface-level ridiculousness alone is worth the price of admission.
Plus, ELP pack the runtime with swanky warmongering splendor, bizarre textures, virtuosic changeups and sing-along hooks. Take, for instance, how the eccentrically militaristic overture (“Eruption”) segues into the omniscient tunefulness of “Stones of Years,” as well as how the jaded catchiness of “Mass” precedes the apocalyptic aridness of “Battlefield” and the synchronized quacks – yes, quacks – of finale “Aquatarkus.” It’s an extravagant, absurd and thoroughly remarkable romp that only ELP could’ve penned.
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Pink Floyd, “Dogs”
You probably assumed “Echoes” or some configuration of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” would be here, and although they’re absolute classics, we’re going with the second song from Pink Floyd’s occasionally underrated Animals. A major component of the record’s examination of the cultural/economic injustices of 20th century Britain, “Dogs” is ripe with biting sociopolitical commentary and pristine musical chemistry.
Tying into the Orwellian (Animal Farm) metaphors of its sibling songs, “Dogs” attacks the greedy, merciless and conformist nature of business. Guitarist David Gilmour’s trademark warmth permeates his acoustic strums and cutting condemnations as his bandmates fill the space with deceptively hospital instrumentation. Likewise, his tastefully shimmering guitarwork soon gives way to dogs barking and crestfallen movements, with the iconic reverberations of ‘’Dragged down by the stone’’ instigating the characteristically compelling antagonism of bassist/vocalist Roger Waters.
Truth be told, his sections might surpass Gilmour’s (especially since keyboardist Richard Wright decorates it with otherworldly psychedelics). In any case, 1977’s “Dogs” is an outstanding example of Pink Floyd’s ability to be intellectual and entertaining at the same time, not to mention a tragic example of how perfectly Gilmour’s brightness and Water’s darkness complemented each other.
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Jethro Tull, “A Passion Play”
There’s far too much to say regarding the history and moment-by-moment exquisiteness of 1973’s A Passion Play. (So, feel free to check out my book about the band!) Suffice to say, though, that following the massive success of 1972’s tongue-in-cheek Thick as a Brick – another single-song album – mastermind Ian Anderson dove fully into his esoteric and philosophical tendencies by telling the metaphysical tale of a man contemplating morality and existence in the afterlife.
Stranger and “artsier” than its predecessor in every way, the 45-minute excursion is flat-out hated by a lot of Jethro Tull devotees, and even Anderson has denounced it numerous times. In recent years, however, just as many people – myself included – have championed it as Jethro Tull’s masterpiece. Furthermore, and at the risk of upsetting everyone reading this, A Passion Play might be the greatest progressive rock album of all time.
The entire thing is inventively theatrical and imaginative, with the stagey set-up of “The Silver Cord,” the spellbinding jazzy peculiarities of “Memory Bank” and yes, the childlike wonder of bedtime story interlude “The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles” flowing seamlessly around utterly enthralling singing (“Best Friends,” “The Foot of Our Stairs,” “Overseer Overture,” “Flight from Lucifer”). Even the two “Forest Dance” passages that bookend “The Hare Who Lost His Spectacles” are quirkily transcendent.
Far from being a creative failure, the fascinatingly unusual, challenging and contemplative A Passion Play is an underappreciated work of genius.
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Kansas, “Song for America”
As you can guess from this list, England was the dominant hub of 1970s prog rock, but that doesn’t mean that the U.S. wasn’t involved. In fact, Kansas’ first few albums were on par with most of what their peers were doing across the pond, as they reached comparable heights in terms of their songwriting and arrangements but with additional hard rock/Southern rock heft and charm.
“Song for America” (from 1975’s Song for America) is excellent proof of those triumphs. Sure, it barely makes the cut since it lasts mere seconds more than 10 minutes, but it goes through numerous changes and houses recurring segments. Kicking off with cathartic violin, steady rhythms and lively central keyboard patterns, its overture is compact yet complex and radiantly patriotic (which is somewhat ironic since the track is about how colonization destroyed the environment).
Steered by Steve Walsh and Robby Steinhardt’s shared decrees, it’s just as gripping once the verses and choruses get going. Meanwhile, the music stays intricate and bouncy but also accessibly focused (so it’s not as “weird” or fragmented as a lot of European prog rock was at the time). Nevertheless, Kansas’ stylish jam roughly halfway through is hypnotically syncopated and exploratory, and it resourcefully recalls the opening portion of “Song for America” at the end to conclude its teachings and solidify its greatness.
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Camel, “Lady Fantasy”
Although Camel weren’t officially in the Canterbury scene, they might as well have been given their British charisma, succulently regal presence and easy-going vibes. That’s particularly true during their 1970s run, when the sublime partnership of Andy Latimer (vocals/guitar) and Peter Bardens (keys) led to much of the group’s best material. Even when they got significantly hectic and elaborate, their work never failed to be wholly absorbing, refined and soothing.
Case in point: “Lady Fantasy,” the three-part culmination of 1974’s Mirage. Written from the perspective of someone dealing with unrequited love – at least, that’s what it seems to be about – its maddening keyboard swirls and dramatic six-string riffs quickly transform into a majorly mellow and moderately psychedelic passage. Bardens’ keyboard solo is sleek and sharp, too, shaking up Latimer’s comforting observations with piercing hipness.
Suddenly, the tune segues into its instrumental middle segment (“Smiles for You”), a captivating eruption of dissonant but melodic counterparts and fluid rhythms. The unified start/stop break halfway in is very cool, too, especially since it results in some of the most beautifully reassuring and sentimental guitarwork you’ll ever hear. Then, “Lady Fantasy” wraps up forebodingly via slowly unfolding and extremely melancholic textures and declarations that – oddly enough – evoke “East Hastings” by Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Additional instrumental freak-outs follow, further showcasing both extremes of Camel’s legendary brilliance.