By Jacob Bennet

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:: Is longer always better? It depends how you use it…

:: February 16, 2026

:: In the age of awful attention spans and short-form content, can you fathom listening to a song longer than 8 minutes? 10 minutes? 30 minutes???

I think you can. I think you SHOULD. 

Like comparing movies to short films, there are qualities of “long” songs that a 3-minute track simply can’t offer. I’ll explain what these qualities are and why it’s worthwhile to add a song the length of a sitcom episode to your playlist. 

The Multisectional Track

Let’s start off with a bang! My favorite kind of songs are ones which contain multiple groupings of verses, oftentimes partitioned by instrumental segments. This is a way that an artist can smoothly transition between several musical tones, without having to split up their message between two or more songs. Songs that the listener is not guaranteed to hear in the intended order. 

“Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst” is a two-part song by Kendrick Lamar which delineates two lyrically chronological sections. In the first part, “Sing About Me,” Kendrick raps from the perspectives of three different individuals affected by gang violence, prostitution, and hopelessness, respectively. Halfway through the song, the beat changes, maintaining the same drum sequence but switching the piano sample for an airy, angelic female vocal. The second part, “I’m Dying of Thirst” refers to baptism and conversion to Christianity as a means for washing away sins and selfishness. Kendrick is parched by mourning and senseless violence, stating, “[We] never learned how to live righteous but how to shoot it,” extending his hands to religious redemption. If separated, these two parts wouldn’t carry anywhere near as much meaning — hence the need for a 12-minute track. 

Since this is my favorite type of long song, I’ll give another example: “Sunglasses” by Black Country, New Road. A satirical song about the power of sunglasses, the first part of the song expresses dissatisfaction and insecurity with the monotony of married life, with Isaac Wood saying, “I become her father, and complain of mediocre theater in the daytime.” The uneasy orchestral instrumental transitions to a snazzy guitar progression in the second half of the track. Now, the narrator is confident and resentful. He calls himself “untouchable” and “more than adequate,” marking an abrupt contrast to the fragile persona of the former half of the song.

In this track, as well as in “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst,” the artists are able to contiguously show a shift in personality — whether by baptism or by putting on sunglasses. The speaker can access the temporal dimension of storytelling in a way only made possible through extended runtime. 

The Build-up

Why are orchestra performances often so long? Significant musical impact develops through long build-ups towards a grand finish. There’s a reason why (most) movies don’t start in the middle of the action. Starting slow and building towards a dramatic scene keeps the viewer invested and emotionally connected to the ending. Movies take their time to deliver a climax; why shouldn’t songs? 

“Dance Yrself Clean” is a 9-minute-long track by LCD Soundsystem that begins with simplistic, repetitive drums and claps, eventually exploding into a multilayered dance-punk banger. As the track progresses, more and more layers are added, building onto — not changing — the looping electronic chords. 

This method of approach is present all over LCD Soundsystem’s discography, most notably in the 8-minute tracks “Home” and “All My Friends.” This technique isn’t contained to just electronic-dance and instrumental music. My other favorite users of build-ups in long songs include Animal Collective and Slint. Build-ups make for cinematic songs that keep you engaged through intrigue and anticipation for the ending, emulating the structure of theatrical performances being utilized for centuries. This rising action-climax format of music gives narrative to otherwise plotless songs, granting the artist freedom to escape the constraints of radio edits. 

Instrumental Outros

Instrumental outros are apparent all over rock music from the 60s and onwards — think Pink Floyd or King Crimson. One way to end a 4 to 5-minute-long lyrical section is to double that runtime with a solely instrumental section. 

“Starless” by King Crimson is a 12-minute track, with only the first 4 minutes containing vocals, followed by 8 minutes of alternating distinct musical phases and instrument changes. John Wetton first captivates the audience with sparing lyrics, sung deeply and sustained. Once his vocals are over, an eerie, drumless guitar riser transforms into a quick and funky saxophone jazz portion. Good outros avoid repetition, instead fluctuating between multiple melodies, oftentimes calling back to the melodies of the vocal intro. Through this, the artist maintains the listener’s interest throughout the instrumental portion, without needing to throw in another chorus. 

“Earthmover” by Have a Nice Life functions in a similar way to “Starless.” The 11-minute shoegaze classic contains 5 minutes of vocals, then features a brief moment of silence before bursting into the most distorted, layered, shoegazey instrumental I’ve ever heard. If you’ve never listened to this song before, I’d describe the instrumental outro as reliving your entire life in the 6 minutes before your death. In a way, that’s exactly what the lyrics of the song are about: existing in the contingency after fulfilling life’s purpose, until the only thing left to do is die. Morbid? Yes. A great display of storytelling? Yes. An emotion able to be conveyed in a much shorter song? Probably not!

This is the art form of extended runtime tracks.

Kendrick Lamar can establish three distinct characters, giving one of them an entire redemption arc — all within a two-part track. LCD Soundsystem can electronically replicate an orchestra performance’s amount of anticipation over the course of 10 minutes. Have A Nice Life can speak on and reproduce an intrinsic facet of the human condition, not through an album, but through a single song.