The Best Ballad by 11 Big Prog Rock Bands

When frontman/flutist Peter Gabriel left Genesis following 1974’s The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, many fans wondered how well the remaining quartet could carry on. Thankfully, 1976’s A Trick of the Tail marked an incredibly successful transition into the Phil Collins era, with the drummer-turned-vocalist (alongside guitarist Steve Hackett, bassist Mike Rutherford and keyboardist Tony Banks) losing little of their prior magic.

Arguably the biggest reason why is “Entangled,” a gorgeously dreamy voyage led by majestic acoustic guitar arpeggios, comforting melodies, angelic harmonies and luscious keys. According to Hackett, it’s inspired by “drifting in and out of consciousness” while on “the psychiatrist couch”; nevertheless, its fairytale vibe and supportive cautions (“Well, if we can help you, we will / You’re looking tired and ill”) still seems kind of romantic and vulnerable.

The outro is ingeniously haunting yet heavenly, with layers of mellotrons and guitars cascading radiantly to leave listeners in absolute awe. In the process (and with acknowledgement that Rutherford also plays guitar during “Entangled”), it showcases why Hackett and Banks were among the greatest guitar/keyboard duos in the genre.

There are many pieces that make 2004’s Marbles so beloved, and closer “Neverland” is surely at the top of the list. Actually, it was voted the band’s greatest track by PROG magazine readers in 2020, and while that’s obviously debatable, it’s at least Marillion’s superlative ballad.

Clocking in at just over 12 minutes – and with a substantial number of energetic changes throughout – the tune is far from what you might consider a traditional ballad. Even so, Steve “H” Hogarth’s characteristically crestfallen and malleable singing (surrounded by celestial keys and poignant piano chords) is breathtakingly beautiful. Plus, admittances such as “When you’re with me / I can stand it / I can stand / But when you’re gone / I never land / In Neverland” are intensely poetic.

As usual, Hogarth brings complete authenticity to his operatically pained performance as his bandmates fill the spaces with fittingly divine outcries and pacifications. By the end, “Neverland” is a deeply moving journey as only Marillion could craft.

In the early 2000s, Spock’s Beard’s story was eerily similar to Genesis’ in that former drummer Nick D’Virgilio took over lead vocal duties following the departure of frontman Neal Morse.

Like the Collins era of Genesis (well, at least until the end of the 1970s), the D’Virgilio era of Spock’s Beard was different yet almost as exceptional, with the “Flash Before My Eyes” suite that kicks off 2005’s Octane being a major reason why. It tells the story of a man who relives his memories and reevaluates his life following a car accident, and naturally, that includes thinking about his soulmate during the fourth segment: “She Is Everything.”

Right away, the combination of his partner’s holy voice and noises from the hospital captures the sobering reality that he may never return to his idyllic life. D’Virgilio sounds utterly broken as he ponders what he’s potentially lost (“She is everything / The sacred, the pure / The fix, the addiction / The vision, the cure / . . . But now it’s all fading away”), and guitarist Alan Morse perfectly punctuates the somberly spiritual arrangement with with piercing guitarwork .

Sure, “She Is Everything” is a bit sappy, but there’s no denying its crushingly eloquent power.

We’ve written about this masterpiece from King Crimson’s genre-defining introductory collection – 1969’s In the Court of the Crimson King – multiple times already (when we named it their best non-“epic” song and their best song period). Nevertheless, we’d be remiss not to show it love once again since – by default – it’s their best ballad, too.

Bassist/singer Greg Lake imbues every lamentation and observation with operatic dejection, as he mourns how our species is foolishly destroying itself. (It was inspired by the misery and devastation of the Cold War, after all.) Forlorn acoustic guitarwork, grief-stricken mellotrons, stern drumming and various orchestral timbers (such as timpani and clarinet) punctuate his cataclysmic predictions (“The fate of all mankind, I see / Is in the hands of fools”), adding bittersweet acceptance to the finality of humanity.

On that note, “Epitaph” is a perfect demonstration of King Crimson’s use of dynamic changes, as it continuously juxtaposes epic catharsis and somber stillness to signify the range of emotions anyone would have at realizing why civilization is its own worst enemy.

By and large, Rush fans rightfully love “Closer to the Heart,” “Entre Nous,” “Losing It” and “Tears” (in addition to several other ballads). That said, there’s something even more special about the seemingly self-aware farewell of “The Garden” (which concludes Rush’s swan song, 2012’s Clockwork Angels) that puts it ahead of the rest.

From start to finish, it oscillates between being luminously uplifting and chillingly upsetting, with the triumphant strings, tender piano notes, nostalgic guitar strums and appreciative verses of Geddy Lee juxtaposed by unsettling instrumentation and anxious singing during the chorus.

Lyrically, it’s just as overwhelmingly poignant, with Lee symbolically saying goodbye to Rush’s legions of lifelong devotees via numerous meaningful conclusions (for instance, “The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect / The way you live, the gifts that you give” and “The future disappears into memory / With only a moment between”).

Its increasing intensity directly correlates to its increasing emotion, too, so it’s damn near impossible not to shed a tear as you appreciate how much Rush meant to so many people. (Clearly, “The Garden” has become doubly impactful since the passing of the one and only Neil Peart, too.)

If there’s two things former Yes frontman Jon Anderson is known for as an artist, it’s his signature high-pitched voice and his life-affirming messages about love, equality, mysticism and the like. Unsurprisingly, much of the legendary band’s classic catalog focuses on those subjects, and in terms of what we’re discussing here, they’ve never done it better than on this cherished cut from 1972’s Close to the Edge.

The four-part piece is initially steered by Steve Howe’s pastoral acoustic strums, earthly percussion and Anderson’s encouraging ideas. It’s instantly tranquil, hopeful and inviting, and expectedly, it soon picks up steam with block harmonies, funkier rhythms, towering synths and irregular detours that culminate in a tremendously warm and inspiring symphony.

During its second half, “And You and I” introduces quirkier and heavier motifs as it reprises past ones, and in typical Yes fashion, it all flows together brilliantly, leaving listeners in awe of how wonderful the world can be.

The second single from 1977’s Point of Know Return, the atypically acoustic “Dust in the Wind” is the clichéd pick for Kansas, but that doesn’t mean it’s the wrong one (sorry, “The Wall”). Written by Kerry Livgren as a fingerpicking exercise, its Biblical influences and universal contemplations on mortality make it one of the simplest yet most profound entries on this list.

Obviously, Livgren’s peaceful pattern is so famous that it’s practically required for beginning guitarists to learn. Likewise, vocalist Steve Walsh’s urgency and purity are equally powerful as he offers life lessons with the help of angelic harmonies and Robby Steinhardt’s comparably iconic and profound strings.

“Dust in the Wind” is also a clear case of a piece whose sublime potency only works because it lacks prog rock theatricality.

There’s little left that needs to be said about this remarkable tribute to tragic Pink Floyd founder Syd Barett (who, ironically, visited them unexpectedly in the studio around the time they were making it).

Like nearly everything on their 1975 record of the same name – not to mention a significant amount of Pink Floyd material in general – “Wish You Were Here” sees the quartet simultaneously looking back fondly on their old bandmate and thinking about the broader challenge of being present in one’s own life and not sacrificing joy and empathy for shallower self-serving accomplishments.

Although guitarist/vocalist David Gilmour and bassist/vocalist Roger Waters co-wrote it, Gilmour undeniably gets the spotlight due to his illustrious guitarwork and tenderly pensive singing. Nick Mason’s steadfast drumming and Rick Wright’s keyboard accompaniments do wonders to make the track feel both grounded and yearning, too, and over the years, “Wish You Were Here” has become an anthem for anyone longing to reconnect with people and relive their glory days.

This might be a shocking pick given how many Tull fans adore “Wond’ring Aloud” (from 1971’s Aqualung). It’s a lovely song, no doubt, but it basically walked so that “Fire at Midnight” (from arguably the quintessential progressive folk LP, 1977’s Songs From the Wood) could run.

In fact, “Fire at Midnight” very much feels like a more evolved revision of that earlier gem, as its melodies and tone are quite similar. Yet, the arrangement is significantly more engaging and sophisticated, with captivating touches of prog rock eccentricity (including marching percussion, eerie chants, feisty mandolin, alarming synthesizers and regal piano chords) enhancing mastermind Ian Anderson’s admiration for returning home to care for his partner.

The rustic midway jam is delightfully peculiar and adventurous, and Anderson has rarely – if ever – sung with such charming sincerity. Aside from being Jethro Tull’s best ballad, then, “Fire at Midnight” is a definite contender for their best album closer as well.

Few frontmen in progressive rock can capture spitefulness and sorrow as well as Pineapple Thief guitarist Bruce Soord. That said, “Barely Breathing” – from 2010’s Someone Here is Missing – does an incredible job of emphasizing the latter quality, single-handedly demonstrating why Soord is among the best songwriters not only of his genre, but of his generation.

Like “Dust in the Wind,” its magic lies in its straightforwardness and lack of proggy embellishments, with Soord’s melancholic falsetto verses and rising choruses complemented by radiantly gloomy acoustic guitar arpeggios, aching piano chords, subtle strings and delicate percussion.

Along the same lines, “Barely Breathing” – like “She is Everything” – avoids sheer mushiness by being cleverly poetic and indisputably earnest (“I lie awake / And all I see is / The day we lay / On golden beaches / The deepest eyes / They couldn’t see that / The world would fade / I know I couldn’t”). It’s truly magnificent.

Even during their early death-doom/gothic metal phase, disbanded English outfit Anathema represented angst with distinctive articulateness and moodiness. However, they improved upon those abilities when they moved into alternative rock toward the end of the 1990s (and eventually perfected them when they became masters of art/prog rock in the 2000s and 2010s).

That 21st century era was led by the gorgeous duality of singers Vincent Cavanagh and Lee Douglas, whose voices blended exquisitely on top of transcendental arrangements to yield some of the best ballads of the last 25 years (“Temporary Peace,” “Sunset of Age,” “Dreaming Light,” “Untouchable Pt. II”). Easily their greatest feat, though, is “Internal Landscapes,” the finale to the most emotionally resonant album I’ve ever heard: 2012’s Weather Systems.

Bookended by an actual interview with Joseph Geraci (in which he recounts saying goodbye to his wife as he prepared to die), the song is about finding peace, acceptance and beauty in watching ourselves – and those we love – pass away. It evolves patiently from dreamy ambiance, with Douglass and Cavanagh exchanging reassurances (“There’s a fire in the sky / And I know it’s you / There’s a light that’s so bright / And I know it’s you”) over increasingly robust and therapeutic instrumentation.

The first six minutes are overwhelmingly moving, yet Anathema go even further toward the end, when the music swells and Cavanagh and Douglas concurrently and triumphantly declare: “For I was always there / I will always be there.” Whether it’s the passing of a family member, the end of a romantic relationship or any other traumatic event, you may find that “Internal Landscapes” embodies grief and healing better than any other song you’ve ever heard.