At its core, rock & roll represents a rejection of the status quo — a rebellion against the establishment that isn’t afraid to get loud and cause a little chaos. As such, putting together a canon of the greatest rock songs of all time can feel a bit counterintuitive. If a mainstream consensus forms around the greatness of a rock song, is it still inherently rock?
To compile a list of the best rock songs of all time, we first established a few ground rules to ensure every entry captured the spirit of the genre:
These songs had to be desert-island quality.
They had to be boundary-breakers — their existence pushed the genre forward.
They had to stand the test of time — as vital now as the day they were born.
As with any work of art, there’s bound to be disagreement. But when it comes to the songs that truly pushed rock to new heights, these 25 tracks still speak to us today — and still inspire a little headbanging. Listed alphabetically, here are the 25 best rock songs of all time.
“All Day and All of the Night” (1964) — The Kinks
It seems almost impossible to believe that this song, the sound of teen lust pressed into vinyl, was released in 1964, when Joey Ramone was 13, and the words punk rock wouldn’t be uttered for another seven years. And yet the raw, modern sound conjured wouldn’t be out of place on a current Sub Pop release. Yeah, the chords are jaggedy, deliberate, and perfectly paced. Yeah, Ray Davies is cool with a capital C. But the real key to the magic is that frenetic tone — the dirty, grungy, previously unheard sludge created when guitarist/Ray’s brother Dave Davies slashed his amp’s speaker with a razor. And just like that — with the flick of a wrist — punk was born.
“Be My Baby” (1963) — The Ronettes
Ronnie Spector (née Bennett) was an 18-year-old singer from Spanish Harlem with an achingly emotional tough-girl voice (and perfectly winged eyeliner) when she recorded “Be My Baby” with producer Phil Spector, her eventual husband. And though their lives together (and apart) would take many dark turns, this recording still shines as a stellar example of his “wall of sound” technique, capturing Ronnie’s perfect expression of young love — and one of the most iconic drum intros in rock history. Though she died at age 78 in January 2022, Ronnie’s voice goes on forever.
“Blitzkrieg Bop” (1976) — The Ramones
The Ramones were the essence of simplicity and efficiency. Four members, four chords. Identical names, identical outfits. And you always knew when their hard and fast songs were about to start because Joey Ramone (a.k.a. the Punk Giant) used a helpful “1, 2, 3, 4!” countdown, or in the case of “Blitzkrieg Bop,” “Hey, ho, let’s go!” The Ramones stood on stage not as rock gods or unattainable heroes, but as oddballs, misfits, and fellow outcasts in torn jeans. Of course, they created catchy, bouncy, perfect pop-punk, but the democratic nature of the Ramones will be their true legacy — everyone was invited to the party.
“Bohemian Rhapsody” (1975) — Queen
The story of how this song got made is legendary — from the 10-hour-a-day singing sessions to the three-week recording time to the 180 (what?) overdubs. But none of that really matters when you hit “play” on Queen‘s Frankenstein and settle in for nearly six minutes of head-banging fun. One of the keys to the everlasting success of this “mock opera” (as Freddie Mercury called it) is how much fun it is to sing with. Entertaining as a 2018 summer blockbuster, satisfying as a six-course feast — intro, ballad, solo, opera, hard rock, outro — “Bohemian Rhapsody” was, is, and will forever be a monument to joyful creative excess.
“Born to Run” (1975) — Bruce Springsteen
If “At night, we ride through the mansions of glory/In suicide machines” doesn’t sound like a typical rock lyric, it’s because this ode to love, cars, and unfulfilled American dreams is anything but typical. “Born to Run” — the title track of his career-defining third studio album — is Bruce Springsteen‘s magnum opus, a desperation epic about getting outta Jersey via Highway 9, the road passing through his hometown of Freehold. Springsteen’s voice starts weary, nearly monotone, then slowly lifted by a wall of sound (guitars, organ, sax, drums, glockenspiel, bass, keyboards), culminating in the finest woo-oah‘s known to rock. Driving relentlessly forward like the chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected machines he sings about, as the song moves toward its conclusion, the miraculous happens: Hope beats defeat.
“A Day in the Life” (1967) — The Beatles
The final track on the Beatles‘ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a surrealistic John Lennon–Paul McCartney collaboration for the ages. After Lennon’s dark start — “I read the news today, oh boy” — McCartney steps in from an alternate universe, chirping about his happy morning routine. The song famously finishes with a 40-piece orchestra going completely wild as McCartney guides the musicians to start at the lowest note and build up to the highest, creating a beautiful cacophony that ends with a single E chord bashed on three pianos at once. “A Day in the Life” is a mystery box of a song, a Beatles crown jewel that continues to demonstrate rock’s creative potential, even today.
“Fell in Love With a Girl” (2001) — The White Stripes
If you had to pick a song that sounds like how falling in love feels, this might be it. The White Stripes know love isn’t all hearts and rainbows — it’s also snotty sing-alongs, slashing guitars, and wild energy that makes you wanna jump six feet in the air. Orson Welles once said, “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations,” but this could’ve easily come from the Stripes’ playbook, too. Limitation has always been their jam — from the three-color palette to the two-person format, from Meg White’s satisfying-n’-simple drumming to Jack White‘s insistence on cheap plastic guitars. So if anyone’s still puzzled over how something so minimal could create a sound this massive, just ask Welles.
“Gimme Shelter” (1969) — The Rolling Stones
If you’re looking for chaos, check out 1969: the Manson murders, the Vietnam War draft, and the election of Nixon. The Rolling Stones‘ “Gimme Shelter” captured the end of the “peace and love” era — perfectly summing up the desperation of the time via Keith Richards’ echoing freight-train shuffle and the panic gospel of Mick Jagger and Merry Clayton. Clayton’s wrenching vocals, the core of this song’s power, were the result of an impromptu midnight session when she performed the iconic “rape/murder” siren in her PJs. A final cursed touch: Richards’ guitar fell apart in his hands on the last note. But they left it — the sound of something breaking was a perfect coda.
“Gloria” (1975) — Patti Smith
“Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine,” Patti Smith declares in the most self-assured, coolest rock intro of all time. Her song, “Gloria,” is actually a mash-up of two works — Smith’s original poem “Oath” and Van Morrison‘s song “Gloria.” No surprise, she absolutely slays it, bending and twisting Morrison’s innocent bop to fit her much darker, more complex vision. And when she asserts, “My sins belong to me, me,” it’s shiver-inducing, the sound of a woman staking her claim in a male-dominated rock & roll world, shoving the establishment aside and saying, “Make room.” And they did.
“I Love Rock ‘N Roll” (1981) — Joan Jett & the Blackhearts
So what if it’s a cover? Joan Jett & the Blackhearts own this song with every ounce of their being. With vinyl-black hair and Gibson-sculpted arms, Jett doesn’t just love rock, she is rock. But her toughness was no act: When the Runaways broke up, she recorded a solo album with her backing band, the Blackhearts, and got rejected by 23 labels, making the chart-topping success of “I Love Rock ‘N Roll” that much sweeter. Spare as a schoolyard chant, stalwart producer Kenny Laguna created a perfect back-and-forth between crisp handclaps and dirty chords. And in the middle of it all, Jett’s husky force of a voice — victory in every word.
“Johnny B. Goode” (1958) — Chuck Berry
There’s not a lot of debate over who “invented” rock & roll: Mr. Chuck Berry. And though “Maybelline” was his first song (released in 1955), it was “Johnny B. Goode” a few years later that truly blew the roof off the joint, a wild, rollicking guitar ride that influenced…well…everyone. And we really do mean everyone!
“La Grange” (1973) — ZZ Top
To fully appreciate the radical nature of a monster like ZZ Top’s “La Grange” — a heavy, swinging, 10-truck-blues-rock-pileup — keep in mind it was released in 1973, when the top radio hit was “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree” by Tony Orlando and Dawn. Billy Gibbons (guitar), Frank Beard (drums), and Dusty Hill (bass) mixed modern rock with boogie blues, topping the whole enchilada with some of the crunchiest, funkiest, most ridiculously fire guitar work ev-er. The result was a whole new kinda groove. Later, they would adopt a slick commercial angle (with videos to match), but at this stage, they were just a trio of BBQ-soaked Texas eccentrics doin’ their thang.
“Let’s Go Crazy” (1984) — Prince & the Revolution
With its purple bananas, elevators, church organs, feverish guitar solos, and the best sermon/eulogy in rock & roll history, Prince‘s paean to partying (and religion — “de-elevator” refers to Satan) opened Purple Rain — the album and the film alike. With its propulsive mix of synth, drums, guitar, amazing wordplay (“Dr. Everything’ll-be-alright/will make everything go wrong”), and a howl that puts all others to shame, it stands the test of time. Now that he’s gone, of course, the life-and-death lyrics take on new poignancy, but songs like this assure his legacy.
“London Calling” (1979) — The Clash
If you were lucky enough to hear “London Calling” (the title track from the album) on the radio back in 1980 (when it finally invaded the U.S.), that first 20 seconds would’ve stopped you in your tracks. What else sounded like Topper Headon’s drum crunch as Joe Strummer and Mick Jones followed on their guitars? Boots pounding asphalt, maybe? By the time the bass swoops in, “London Calling” has set into motion a rain-soaked, three-minute film, presented by Strummer, a master storyteller. Clash songs are solid state instruments — low budget, low flourish, muscular — and this one’s no different. Guitars provide brief, jagged slashes of color, but the spotlight stays trained on Strummer and his end-times tale. Apocalyptic, yeah, but never dour — more like a call to arms.
“Once in a Lifetime” (1980) — Talking Heads
An ode to disassociation, the Talking Heads’ signature song is carried by Tina Weymouth’s hypnotic rubber-band bassline and (her husband) Chris Frantz’s shuddery beats. But producer Brian Eno’s studio wizardry was also responsible for much of the magic, taking the band’s Fela Kuti-inspired jam sessions and looping them, an innovation ahead of its time. The result sounds like being trapped inside a telephone switchboard, full of repeating signals, samples, and scraps. Of course, David Byrne‘s hauntingly existential lyrics (“How did I get here?”) and delivery — part fortune teller, part street preacher — really put this thing over the top.
“Rebel Girl” (1993) — Bikini Kill
In the ‘90s punk scene, mosh pits were macho, and feminism was a dirty word. Cut to a Bikini Kill show, led by the powerhouse Kathleen Hanna — roaring “Girls up front!” and “Revolution girl style now!” — “Rebel Girl” is the band’s OG ode to grrrl power, driven by crunchy guitars and a relentless beat. Of the three recordings, we like the ‘98 version best, with Joan Jett’s chords beefing up the mix, but the constant is Hanna’s jackpot voice, capturing teen girlhood like no other (only Poly Styrene compares). Her Valley girl howl will stop you in your tracks, proclaiming friendship, revolution, and, yeah, lust. When she sang, we heard the revolution.
“Search and Destroy” (1973) — The Stooges
You might already know the role this hard-driving, sinister song played in the invention of punk. But what you might NOT know is how much David Bowie (as producer) had to do with it. His decision to put Iggy Pop‘s voice and James Williamson’s wild guitar melodies up front (while keeping the volume low on the rhythm section) inadvertently created a template used by bands from the Sex Pistols to the White Stripes and beyond. The result is an urgent, propulsive song with a raw spirit and some of Pop’s most super-charged writing with deceptively simple lyrics about love and war, dripping with desperation.
“Smells Like Teen Spirit” (1991) — Nirvana
“With the lights out, it’s less dangerous/Here we are now, entertain us.” Kurt Cobain famously hated being famous. Emerging from the flannel-shirted Pacific Northwest punk/grunge scene, the success of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” (platinum seller, widely praised by critics) seemed to surprise him. An ironic, pissed-off anthem for an ironic, pissed-off generation, the combo of rhythmic punk power chords (inspired by Pixies’ “Debaser”), angry, sarcastic lyrics, and a funk-inspired drumming choice by Dave Grohl created once-in-a-lifetime rock alchemy.
“Starman” (1972) — David Bowie
David Bowie‘s “Starman” is a soaring wonder, a sparkly tale about an alien communicating with Earth’s children via radio (and phone!). Sci-fi as the lyrics are, it’s also a tribute to good ol’ American pop, from the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” octave leap to the morse code “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” guitar to the intro’s “oh-oh-oh’s.” Like an origami box, each fold reveals another treasure, from Mick Ronson’s moonshot guitar to the feel-good chorus. Bowie’s 1972 BBC TV performance of “Starman” was incredibly influential — reaching so many future stars when they were kids (from Bono to Boy George) — it was as if the lyrics had come true.
“There She Goes, My Beautiful World” (2004) — Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
“You weren’t much of a muse/but then I weren’t much of a poet” might not sound like a love song, but this being Nick Cave, trust us, it is. His core driving philosophy is love in all its variety — from darkest depths to goofiest heights, always delivered with desperation. On Abattoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus, his 13th album with the Bad Seeds, we meet a new Nick — Cave 2.0, you could say — married, sober, and harnessing the power of gospel without ever abandoning his punk soul. “There She Goes, My Beautiful World” presents him in black-suited power-preacher mode, backed by a band on fire, raging holy poetry and name-dropping Larkin, Nabokov, and Thunders in what might be the greatest (only?) rock song written about writer’s block.
“Tutti Frutti” (1955) — Little Richard
Little Richard, a former teenage drag queen (performing as Princess Lavonne) from the deep south, catapulted himself onto the American pop music scene in the 1950s with a signature blend of gospel, blues, and a fearless attitude. Richard, who referred to himself as the “King and Queen” of rock, screamed and played piano as if his life depended on it. As an EW writer put it, Richard was considered the “first-ever mainstream popular entertainer of his era to openly explore his gender identity and sexuality on stage.” To make “Tutti Frutti,” his first hit, radio-friendly, a writer helped him swap the original NSFW lyrics but kept the vivacious spirit, turning “A-wop-bop-a-loo-bop-a-lop-bam-boom” into a national catchphrase.
“Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” (1968) — The Jimi Hendrix Experience
“Voodoo Child” represents Jimi Hendrix as Zeus, hurling Strat-shaped thunderbolts down to earth. Or Hendrix as a fire-breathing rock monster, Godzilla in tie-dye, or simply Guitar God, telling tales about his life, like…standing next to mountains, chopping them down with his hand, making islands with the pieces, you know, stuff like that. And then, as if to wink at the listener, Hendrix laughs. The wild thing is that the guitar work on this track is so incendiary he earns those bragging rights — and then some.
“Where Is My Mind?” (1988) — Pixies
The Pixies, a band that David Bowie himself deemed “a psychotic Beatles” and Kurt Cobain credited as prime inspiration, were masters of the “loud-quiet-loud” formula. While it’s nearly impossible to pick a single “best” from this band’s quirkily infectious, violently hummable output, this track comes mighty close. Distinguished by guitarist Joey Santiago’s melodic waves, Black Francis’ panic-dream storytelling, and Kim Deal‘s ghostly “ooh-ooh’s” floating in from an underwater graveyard (in reality, the studio bathroom), this song, like all Pixies songs, finds magic in contrast: dreamy vs. screamy, darkness vs. light. The effect is like surf rock set on fire.
“Whole Lotta Love” (1969) — Led Zeppelin
As an established part of the classic rock canon, it’s easy to forget what a strange beast Led Zeppelin actually is, in large part due to drummer John Bonham. Running against the standard rock formula (drummer follows bass), he instead followed guitarist Jimmy Page, creating a heavy, winding-road sound like no other. Even with its wicked guitar riffs, Robert Plant‘s over-the-top “reinterpretation” of classic Willie Dixon blues lyrics, and a trippy theremin break, “Whole Lotta Love” still manages to stay anchored, thanks to Bonzo.
“Wuthering Heights” (1978) — Kate Bush
Spoiler alert: “Wuthering Heights” is sung from the POV of a ghost named Cathy. Non-spoiler alert: This is not the strangest thing about the song. “Wuthering Heights” is a mood, and though it might not sound traditionally rebellious, it’s possibly the most radical choice on this list. As bizarre now as the day it was born, this Brontë novel set to music captures greatness in a spinning chorus you won’t be able to excise. Written by Kate Bush when she was 18 and sung in what might be described as “full banshee mode,” “Wuthering Heights” was initially refused by her label to be the first single. But she insisted, filming a now-legendary video to match. In 2022, Bush’s story continued as her music’s role on Stranger Things garnered renewed interest and a new generation of fans. Long may she twirl.
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