The 5 Best Prog Rock Songs Over 20 Minutes Long (Ranked)

Many genre lovers who were around during the 1970s will proudly declare that nothing that’s come out since then can compare to what the pioneers of prog rock did.

Most of the time, they’re right, but there are a few cases of bands whose finest feats – however inherently familiar – truly rival the works of those who came before them. Spock’s Beard’s 27-minute finale to 2000’s V (which draws upon mastermind Neal Morse’s earlier life as “a depressed musician being revived by music again”) is one such case.

Sure, it evokes classic artists such as Kansas and Gentle Giant, but its eccentricities, melodic sensibilities and life-affirming yet wayward perspectives are quintessential Spock’s Beard.

Its playfully bombastic introduction (“From Nowhere”) offers a delightful blend of meditative acoustic ballad and flashy symphonic splendor. Before long, it erupts into two bonkers prog rock jams – one, “One Note,” being quirkier and the other, “Missed Your Calling,” being sentimental – as well as a gratifying reprise of where the journey first kicked off at the end.

Everything else along the way is pure prog rock gold, too, so despite “The Great Nothing” arriving decades after three of our next entries, it’s almost on par with them.

Phideaux may be modern prog rock’s best kept secret, as they remain criminally underknown and underappreciated.

Led by Phideaux Xavier, the ensemble usually features about a dozen members (including numerous male and female vocalists alongside many multi-instrumentalists). Their fantastical sociopolitical/environmental commentaries are lovingly brought to life via a refined juxtaposition of top-tier songwriting and riveting arrangements as well.

Like Spock’s Beard, Phideaux irrefutably channel their forebears (specifically, Jethro Tull, Renaissance, Änglagård and Yes), but they also pack enough of an original and reliable punch to match their predecessors from time to time.

Case in point: the two-part “Snowtorch” from the 2011 record of the same name, whose explosive “Fox on the Rocks” section appears early on and becomes one of the most astonishingly intricate, zany and gripping instrumental prog rock passages of all time.

What surrounds it is gorgeously dramatic, operatic, folky, and classical, too, and although the second half meanders a bit at the start, it eventually equals the first half’s elegant yet morose spectacle.

All in all, “Snowtorch” is an indispensable creation and the greatest prog rock epic of the 21st century.

Look, “Close to the Edge” is arguably Yes’ most popular and accessible epic tune. However, it doesn’t reach the 19-minute mark – let alone go over 20 minutes – and we already celebrated the more ferocious and ominous “The Gates of Delirium” as Yes’ best and heaviest composition.

Taken from 1974’s Relayer, its commanding temperamental shifts and characteristically eloquent lyricism (inspired by Tolstoy’s War and Peace) have lost none of their power 40 years after they first blew listeners’ minds.

The jazz fusion touches of newcomer Patrick Moraz (who briefly replaced Rick Wakeman) inherently make the track feel unique and Yes’ ability to run the gamut between hellish outbursts and divine respites is remarkable.

As always, singer Jon Anderson’s high-pitched passion is enchanting, as are guitarist Steve Howe’s main motif and agitated fills. All the while, bassist Chris Squire and drummer Alan White are adventurously aligned as the quintet take their audience on a whirlwind of musical and thematic battles and resolutions.

That its closing passage (“Soon”) will bring a few tears to your eyes is just one of many reasons why “The Gates of Delirium” is a magnificent rollercoaster of emotions and approaches.

By far the longest song Genesis ever cut, “Supper’s Ready” closes their fourth and finest LP (1972’s Foxtrot) with a spellbindingly vibrant, fun and catchy romp centered around the Book of Revelation. Its majestic instrumentation, imaginative storytelling, theatrical weightiness (particularly from lovably stagey frontman Peter Gabriel) and sheer variety between segments epitomizes what made Genesis’ classic era so special.

It evolves brilliantly from gorgeous acoustic guitarwork, tender singing and other delicate accompaniments (“Lover’s Leap”) to a perpetually more panicked affair, with the fanciful “Ikhnaton and Its-a-Con and Their Band of Merry Men” segueing into the subdued turmoil of “How Dare I Be So Beautiful?” and the festive “Willow Farm.”

Then, a mesmerizingly suspenseful instrumental movement (“Apocalypse in 9/8”) gives way to lovely pastoral catharsis as “Supper’s Ready” wraps up.

No matter how many times you hear it, you’ll still be blown away by the end.

There’s no denying that 1972’s Thick as a Brick — which consists of a single song broken into two halves — is routinely mentioned when people talk about the genre’s greatest multipart pieces.

It’s absolutely deserving of the nod, with its warm vibes; captivatingly complex trajectory; and inventively poetic (self-parodying) songwriting being damn near impeccable from start to finish.

In contrast, a lot of people downright hate its similarly structured successor – 1973’s A Passion Play – for being impenetrably cold, serious and bizarre.

However, that’s precisely why it surpasses its predecessor. Its bleaker and stranger philosophical investigations into mortality and ethics (framed around a man’s experience in the afterlife) is significantly more rewarding and striving. Likewise, A Passion Play’s assortment of somber reflections (“The Silver Cord,” “The Foot of Our Stairs”), challenging jams (“Magus Perdé,” “Memory Bank”) and wonderfully peculiar transitions (“Lifebeats/Prelude,” “Critique Oblique”) is endlessly enthralling.

Even the storybook interlude (“The Story of the Hare Who Lost His Spectacles”) is charmingly whimsical, orchestral and audacious, cementing the whole journey as a bona fide work of genius rather than as the pretentious wreck so many naysayers think it is.