Many standout Porcupine Tree ballads (such as “I Drive the Hearse,” “Stop Swimming,” ‘Half-Light” and “The Rest Will Flow”) consist of little more than a few chords and a relatively basic melody. It’s precisely that purity that makes them so superb, though, and the closing track from the band’s best record – 2002’s In Absentia – is the greatest proof of that.

Likely unconnected to the overarching serial killer theme of the LP, “Collapse the Light Into Earth” finds mastermind Steven Wilson singing with absolute dejection over a straightforward but affective piano motif. That’s almost all there is to it, but it’s still incredibly harrowing because of how its ethereal echoes and defeated tone convey a disquieting acceptance of loss.

It’s as if Wilson is half-heartedly reassuring the person that he’ll be okay as he reflects on their separation during the evening (when the sun seemingly collapses into the earth). It’s a universally relatable mindset (“I won’t heal given time / I won’t try to change your mind / I won’t feel better in the cold light of day / But I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to stay”), and the influx of luscious strings and downright heavenly harmonies near the end add to its grief-stricken splendor.

Mastodon are known for their erratic prog/psych/stoner metal voyages, so “Cold Dark Place” somewhat wins by default since there are only a handful of ballads in their discography. Nevertheless, the title track to their 2017 EP exemplifies their debatably underappreciated knack for distilling vulnerability and anguish into sophisticatedly evocative art.

According to former lead guitarist/vocalist Brent Hinds, the entire four-track collection represents “the concept of living and how much it hurts to f—king be alive.” Specifically, Hinds wrote the “dark, beautiful, spooky, funky, ethereal, melancholy music” as a means of processing a “nasty breakup,” and that’s particularly evident throughout “Cold Dark Place.”

Hinds’ routinely forceful Southern drawl instead conjures desperation as he pines for the little things they once shared (namely, physical and emotional intimacy). Lyrically, it’s laudably poetic and private, and although Mastodon inject characteristic feistiness at the end, the majority of “Cold Dark Place” is structured around rustic guitar arpeggios and haunting textures that impeccably capture Hinds’ lovesick torment.

We previously named this leftover cut from Opeth’s breakthrough LP (2001’s Blackwater Park) the best non-‘epic’ song from the Swedish troupe, so it automatically gets Opeth’s spot here. Even when reevaluated in comparison to their many other wonderful ballads – including “Burden,” “Still Day Beneath the Sun,” “Isolation Years” and “To Bid You Farewell” – “Patterns in the Ivy II” simply can’t be beaten.

Very much building upon the vibe of its instrumental precursor (which did appear on the official version of Blackwater Park), “Patterns in the Ivy II” is an exquisite example of how the simplest tunes can be the most effective (especially in terms of band leader Mikael Åkerfeldt personifying sorrow with nothing more than gorgeously melancholic words and gentle acoustic guitarwork).

“Without you, I cannot confide in anything / The hope is pale designed in light of dreams you bring,” Åkerfeldt begins, and from there, he continues molding a chillingly beautiful lamentation (complete with ghostly harmonies) that solidifies him as arguably the best songwriter of his genre and generation. “Patterns in the Ivy II” doesn’t last long, but its impact is certainly eternal.

You might not expect a band’s best ballad to arrive fairly late into their catalog, but that’s what happened with Symphony X and the title track to their seventh studio record (from 2007). By no means their peak tune from their sturdiest sequence, “Paradise Lost” is still a monumentally stirring composition (co-written by the dynamic duo of guitarist Michael Romeo and keyboardist Michael Pinnella).

Its foundation of looping piano patterns, acoustic guitar strums and divine strings provides the ideal backing for Russell Allen’s magnificent bellows and romantic verses (“My yearning is silenced by angelic skin of white / Love conquers all, though heavens fall this fateful night”). True, “Paradise Lost” offers a familiar combination of Symphony X trademarks, but they coalesce into a particularly welcoming, graceful and powerful outcome that epitomizes their ability to prioritize first-class songwriting and fitting accompaniments over their signature flashiness.

Beyond being the strongest (and strangest) set from England’s Haken, 2013’s The Mountain is among the best progressive rock/metal albums of the 2010s. Seriously, every song is fantastic, and as with most top-tier records, it leaves listeners in awe with its final statement: “Somebody.”

Frontman Ross Jennings has rarely sounded so elegantly upset, with his soaring falsetto and backing vocals expressing delicate and isolated misery. Meanwhile, his bandmates coat his pristine wails with equally tasteful and tragic instrumentation. It’s a haunting basis, for sure, and even though Haken throw in some emblematic quirkiness, heaviness and complexity during the second half (including Gentle Giant-like interlocking vocal rounds), “Somebody” never loses sight of its sensitive core.

Of course, and its shortened acoustic reimagining – “Nobody” – is damn good, too.

As with Opeth’s “Patterns in the Ivy II,” this masterpiece from 1999’s Metropolis Pt. 2: Scenes from a Memory already got the nod as Dream Theater’s best non-“epic” song earlier this year. Unsurprisingly, our opinion hasn’t changed in the few months since, with “The Spirit Carries On” – written by guitarist John Petrucci – remaining the quintet’s finest work when it comes to creating a poignant composition that touches every listener for one reason or another.

Naturally, its soothing piano chords, resolute drumming, pensive acoustic guitar chords and wistful yet hopeful sentiments are the perfect way to wrap up the LP’s profound story. That said, its power extends beyond the confines of that concept, with frontman James LaBrie’s reflections and encouragements (“Move on, be brave / Don’t weep at my grave / Because I am no longer here / Please never let your memory of me disappear”) striking a chord with anyone who’s had to preserver through tragedy.

Drummer Mike Portnoy even dedicated it to his late sister, Samantha, during an October 2024 concert, resulting in one of the most moving moments in Dream Theater’s entire concert history.

Queensrÿche’s superlative track is easily “Eyes of a Stranger,” but it’d be a stretch to call it a ballad, right? So, we’re going with the admittedly obvious pick of the Grammy-nominated “Silent Lucidity,” as it’s a major reason why Empire is the peak of Queensrÿche’s ‘90s output and one of the best records from that decade. (It also launched the band into the mainstream.)

Oddly enough – given how big it became – “Silent Lucidity” wasn’t Empire’s lead single. Rather, it was the third track released on its own, and per ex-singer Geoff Tate, guitarist Chris DeGarmo wrote it after reading Creative Dreaming by Patricia Garfield and pondering the wonders of lucid dreaming and “how to tap into your subconscious.”

It’s no wonder, then, why the lovely serenade has a dreamlike feel vocally and musically, with gentle six-string fingerpicking, reserved rhythms and Tate’s one-of-a-kind blend of somber observations and heated outcries yielding an inevitable hit. Yes, it’s atypically mild and radio-friendly, but that doesn’t get in the way of its reassuring glory.

Like Mastodon, there’s a scarce number of ballads strewn across Between the Buried and Me’s career, so it wasn’t exactly hard to decide that the country-tinged “Desert of Song” (from 2009’s criminally underappreciated The Great Misdirect) is their best one.

Marking a rare co-lead vocal performance from guitarist Paul Waggoner, “Desert of Song” oozes the arid warmth that largely permeates the entire disc. In fact, Waggoner’s sterner singing – combined with the song’s leisurely acoustic strums and slide guitar – make it positively pastoral, and Waggoner’s timbre works surprisingly well alongside the more expressive voice of keyboardist Tommy Rogers.

“Desert of Song” gets a tad gutsier as it goes, but it remains abnormally mellow throughout, and despite still being somewhat abstract, Rogers’ lyrics are surprisingly down to earth (“The radios stopped tuning / This static is forbidden / The chords quit strumming / But we found our new home. . . . Here, we’re awake in the desert of song / The silence is broken”). Whereas so much of BTBAM’s brilliance comes from their challengingness (in every respect), “Desert of Song” is accessibly uneasy.

If any act on this list is known for their emotional radiance, it’s prog metal titans TesseracT (to the point that you’d have a tougher time choosing a composition that doesn’t pack a relatably distraught punch). That said, it’s probably not surprising that their finest ballad – “Tourniquet” – comes from their finest collection: 2015’s Polaris.

Using the titular medical device as a metaphor for how love can “stop the bleeding” and help singer Daniel Tompkins “contain the pressure[s]” that surrounds him, the piece is a serene collage of pensive soundscapes and impassioned vows. Tompkins’ falsetto is virtually unrivaled in terms of angelic angst – especially when it’s this multilayered – and the rest of TesseracT decorate his confessions with intoxicating magnificence.

Expectedly, “Tourniquet” taps into TesseracT’s penchant for djent destructiveness, too, but only at the end, and it complements – rather than overshadows – the prevailing poignancy.

Genre-splicing Canadian genius Devin Townsend is easily the most versatile artist on this list, as he can oscillate between mind-bending weirdness, sophomoric jokiness, demonic heaviness and introspective/transcendental blissfulness on the same album! As such, he’s penned several lovely ballads across several projects (“Lady Halen,” “Divine,” “Why,” “Storm” etc.)

All of them competed for this spot, but when push comes to shove, it’s the modest but invigorating sincerity of “Ih-Ah!” (from The Devin Townsend Project‘s 2009 opus, Addicted) that best represents his ability to mine gold from steadfast – if sappy – affection, wonder and commitment.

Featuring invaluable backing vocals from Susanne Richter, “Ih-Ah!” exudes Townsend’s typical mix of philosophy and pragmaticism as it tenderly (yet operatically) expresses love between two people (or even a grander love for all life in the universe). Its sleekly unassuming music adds to its charming spiritual intensity, and like a lot of Townsend’s greatest feats, it inspires the listener to value the present and feel comfortable with the uncertain future.

Although they frequently deal with lighter atmospheres and instrumentation, Poland’s Riverside have produced just as many ferocious highlights since they began in the early 2000s. All the while, they’ve showcased top-notch songwriting and vocals (due largely to the full-bodied but vulnerable singing Mariusz Duda). In that respect, they’ve never been better than on this heartbreaking selection from their 2004 debut sequence – and inaugural chapter of their “Reality Dream” trilogy – Out of Myself.

Centered around romantic yearning and self-doubt, “I Believe” is an acoustic ballad (with gentle nuances and thematically rich sound effects) in which Duda’s lead vocals and stacked harmonies embody regret and longing in their purest forms. The arrangement that surrounds him is perfectly suited to enhance his pain, too, particularly with late guitarist Piotr Grudziński’s Gilmour-esque accompaniments.

Riverside have created numerous breathtaking odes over the past 20 years, but none hit as hard as “I Believe.”