The Heaviest Song by Five Classic Prog Rock Bands

Few, if any, artists epitomized the majestic and pastoral sides of progressive rock as well as Genesis; however, they could also pack a huge punch when they wanted, such as on “Fly on a Windshield,” “Los Endos” and “The Return of the Giant Hogweed” (which saw newcomer Steve Hackett rigorously employing guitar tapping years before Eddie Van Halen popularized the technique).

That said, Genesis’ heftiest venture came even earlier in their career: on the live version of “The Knife.” Initially the lead single and closing song of their sophomore LP – 1970’s Trespass – “The Knife” was sharpened for this 1973 performance (to the point that it evokes the riffs and rhythms of King Crimson).

In particular, Phil Collins’ drumming is relentlessly agitated as he supports Hackett’s six-string strikes, Tony Banks’ distorted organ punctuations, Mike Rutherford’s fuzzy bass lines and even frontman Peter Gabriel’s unusually corrosive singing. Its initial third is substantially destructive, yet it doesn’t fully erupt until after its peaceful middle portion ingeniously segues into Genesis’ most unruly instrumental jam to date.

As a whole, “The Knife” is extremely intense!

Speaking of King Crimson, they essentially got heavier and heavier as the first half of the 1970s went on, only to decrease their viciousness during their 1980s turn into post-punk/new wave. They returned with a heightened (industrial metal) bang in the 1990s and 2000s, though, and somehow, they saved their crowning savageness (“Level Five”) for their final studio set: 2003’s The Power to Believe.

It’s only right that the band’s gnarliest track is an instrumental, too, given that they were known for them. Actually, “Level Five” is the fifth and final entry in King Crimson’s multialbum “Larks’ Tongues in Aspic” suite, and you can definitely hear the connections to its precursors in how it builds off-kilter percussion and interconnected (and dissonant) timbres on top of repetitious metallic guitar patterns.

Its irregular start/stop interruptions also tie it to past “Larks’ Tongues” chapters, and whereas the prior four segments were somewhat playful and colorful in their own ways, “Level Five” is persistently serious and mechanical.

Rush‘s earliest music certainly had a lot of bite since they were clearly (and self-admittedly) borrowing from 1960s hard rock and heavy metal legends such as Led Zeppelin, Cream and The Who. So, you might think that their heaviest recording came from that era – and you’d be wrong, as the iconic trio’s fiercest trek didn’t arrive until they’d already been going strong for two full decades.

Like 1993’s Counterparts overall, lead single “Stick It Out” found drummer Neil Peart, guitarist Alex Lifeson and vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Geddy Lee returning to their classic hard rock/progressive rock roots amidst channeling some of the Seattle grunge movement that was in full swing by that point.

True, Lee’s singing is generally restrained and calm (so he’s not nearly as unhinged as on, say, the “Temple of Syrinx” portion of “2112”). Still, his bass playing – alongside Lifeson’s majorly crunchy chords and licks – is consistently heated, and of course, Peart’s crashing cymbals and drum hits pepper their attacks with additional fury. Most importantly, Lifeson’s unexpectedly wild solo near the end is what takes “Stick It Out” over the edge.

Just like Genesis, Gentle Giant’s signature brand of wide-ranging instrumentation and erratic changeups was at its thunderous peak shortly after the band began (on their third record, 1972’s Three Friends). A concept album about – you guessed it – three childhood friends who are unhappy in their adult lives, its grand sense of narrative dissatisfaction permeates every frantic moment of Side Two opener “Peel the Paint.”

The track gets going with gentle embellishments and soft singing (courtesy of soon-to-be former saxophonist Phil Shulman). However, it hints at the impending vehemence during that initial segment, and by the two-minute mark, that pressure explodes into a collage of foreboding motifs and interlocking riffs. Standard rock textures collide with violins, saxophones and various keyboards as lead singer Derek Shulman yells his proclamations (“I peel the paint, look underneath / You’ll see the same, the same old savage beast / Strip the coats, the coats of time / And find mad eyes and see those sharpened teeth”).

Aside from the abstract jam close to the conclusion, “Peel the Paint” sustains that spirited belligerence until its final outburst, thoroughly enveloping listeners in its adventurous disorderliness.

We already named this 22-minute opus from 1974’s Relayer as Yes’ best epic song, and despite producing plenty of scorching material across their immense discography (“Machine Messiah,” “Shock to the System,” “Sound Chaser,” “Tempus Fugit”), “The Gates of Delirium” remains Yes’ heaviest creation musically and thematically.

Inspired by Tolstoy’s War and Peace, its exploration of conflict, devastation and healing is as weighty and impactful as anything else Yes ever wrote. Although he sings everything with his usual high-pitched gracefulness, many of Anderson’s descriptions and decrees are incredibly poetic, contemplative and enduring.

(For example, he sings: “Our gods awake in thunderous roars and guide the Leader’s hand in paths of glory”; “Listen, your friends have been broken / They tell us of your poison / Now we know / Kill them / Give them as they give us / Slay them / Burn their children’s laughter”; and “Soon, oh soon the time / All we move to gain will reach and calm / Our heart is open Our reason to be here.”)

All the while, Yes bookend several serene passages with cinematic pandemonium (fiery guitar lines, diabolic vocal layers, penetrating keyboard accentuations, tumultuous percussion, etc.), with its halfway detour capturing what it would be like to ride a rollercoaster through a vast chasm of hellish cosmos. It’s a rivetingly daring, imaginative and frenetic, attacking the listener with its unpredictability and inventiveness until they’re left exhausted but grateful for the experience (as if they’ve just survived a stressful battle and are reflecting on what life means in the aftermath).