Ever since they burst onto the scene with the frantic, math-rock precision of 'Antidotes', Foals have been a band in a constant state of evolution. From the jagged, technical rhythms of their early Oxford days to the heavy, stadium-filling riffs of 'What Went Down', Yannis Philippakis and company have never been content to sit still.
What makes Foals so special is their ability to balance raw, primal energy with intricate, danceable grooves. While they have built a reputation as one of the most consistent and adventurous forces in modern indie rock, a band that isn't afraid to use creative freedom to experiment, eventually leading to the sun-drenched, disco-infused optimism of the 'Life Is Yours' era, an album that proved they can still find new ways to make us move.
They are a band that can make you lose yourself in a mosh pit one second and a late-night disco the next. Whether it’s the soaring atmospheric heights of 'Spanish Sahara' or the funk-driven urgency of 'My Number', their discography is a testament to a career built on substance over fleeting trends.
So, digging deep into their back catalogue, from the cult classics to the dancefloor fillers, here is my definitive (and highly debated) list of the top 10 Foals songs.
Foals tried something risky in 2019, releasing two albums, 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 1' and 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 2'. The first of those records was received well, both by fans and critics; naturally, there was a worry when the second record dropped. Would it be any good? Or was it full of songs that weren't good enough for the first record? Thankfully not.
While 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 1' explored Foals’ new-wave tendencies, 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 2' is more brutal and visceral. It’s noisier and gnarlier.
'Neptune' ends that record, and it's a sprawling 10-minute odyssey that makes nods to two early Foals favourites, 'Red Socks Pugie' and 'Spanish Sahara'. Shifting from the melancholic to the muscular, it is the ultimate proof of the band's grand ambition. It is a masterclass in tension and release, anchored by Jack Bevan’s relentless drumming and a guitar solo that feels like it’s unravelling in real-time. Where most bands would shy away from such a long runtime, Foals lean into the psychedelia, letting the track breathe and mutate until it reaches its transcendent climax.
Lyrically, the track feels like a final departure. Yannis sings of leaving "the white wards of England" and the "fields of chrome," searching for a place where "the sky knows my name." There is a haunting, funerary beauty in the imagery of uploading his heart to a "fatal shore" and being rowed away on "black rivers and rainbows to Neptune." It’s a song about the passage of time, how it "brings low all good things", and the desire to find a permanent stasis far away from the "rusted homes" of the modern world.
The sheer scale of 'Neptune' also serves as the perfect bookend to the 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost' project. While 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 1' ended with the delicate, piano-led 'I’m Done With the World (& It’s Done With Me)', 'Neptune' offers a much more definitive, cinematic exit. It feels less like a song and more like a weather system; it builds from a quiet, internal monologue into a storm of feedback and crashing cymbals, eventually receding back into a haunting, ambient stillness that leaves the listener breathless.
Furthermore, it’s a track that rewards the "deep-dive" listener. In an era of three-minute streaming hits, 'Neptune' is a defiant middle finger to brevity. It demands your full attention as it moves through its various movements, from the "loose-limbed array" of the mid-section to the desperate, soaring pleas of "come and take me away." By the time the final notes fade, you feel as though you’ve travelled the vast distance to the planet itself. It has quickly become a white whale moment for fans during their live sets. A reminder that despite their knack for a tight indie floor-filler, Foals are still masters of the epic, and this is one of the most creatively courageous moments of their entire career.
If 'Neptune' represents the sprawling, experimental side of Foals, 'On the Luna' is a sharp reminder that they are equally capable of writing a punchy, three-minute indie anthem. Released as a standout single from 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 1', this track is a quintessential Foals earworm, driven by a jittery, interlocking guitar riff that feels like a direct callback to the math-rock complexity of 'Antidotes' but polished with a modern, stadium-ready sheen.
Lyrically, the song is a fascinating snapshot of the "everything-everywhere-all-at-once" nature of the 21st century. Yannis weaves a sense of personal nostalgia with a broader, more cynical look at the modern world. He paints a picture of being a "latchkey kid in the Luna" or a "Kung-Fu kid" wasting days at the lido, yet this childhood innocence is sharply interrupted by the present-day reality of "Trump clogging up my computer." It captures that feeling of being glued to a screen ("I'm watching all day, all day") even when the content is exhausting. The chorus famously questions our collective negligence: "We had it all, but we didn't stop to think about it." It’s a song that feels like a frantic scroll through a newsfeed, disorienting, colourful, and slightly overwhelming.
This juxtaposition of a sunny, upbeat melody with lyrics that touch on "agitators" and "infiltrators" creates that classic Foals tension: music you can dance to while the world outside feels like it’s fraying at the edges. Yannis’s plea for an "evacuator" or "emancipator" adds a layer of desperation to the groove, making "A day in the life of" feel both mundane and high-stakes.
From a technical standpoint, the track is a masterclass in the band’s "math-pop" architecture. The interplay between Jimmy Smith’s textures and Yannis’s lead lines creates a rhythmic puzzle that only Foals can solve so effortlessly. Jack Bevan’s drumming here is particularly tight, providing a motorik heartbeat that keeps the song from spinning off into total chaos. It’s also one of the best examples of the band's use of synthesisers during the 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 1' sessions, using them not to replace the guitars, but to thicken the atmosphere and add a neon-lit, retro-futuristic glow to the whole affair.
It’s a testament to the band's ability to evolve without losing the core identity that made fans fall in love with them back in 2008. Even without that elusive number one hit, tracks like this prove that Foals are the masters of the "alternative" dancefloor.
If there is one track that perfectly encapsulates the "brutal and visceral" side of 'Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost: Part 2', it’s 'The Runner'. While the previous record flirted with danceable textures, this track hits like a sledgehammer from the very first riff. It is a heavy, rhythmic powerhouse that feels designed to be played at maximum volume in a packed stadium, or through a pair og good headphones.
Lyrically, the song is an anthem of sheer perseverance. Drawing on the classic literary imagery of "The loneliness of the long distance runner," Yannis explores the grit required to keep moving when things get tough. The lyrics are a mantra of resilience: "If I fall down, fall down / Then I know to keep on running." It’s about the mental battle of endurance, pushing through the "shadow chiaroscuro" and the "embers" of life to find the strength to continue. There’s a beautiful defiance in the line "And if it hurts don't let it show," echoing the band's own relentless drive to evolve and survive in an ever-changing industry.
What truly sets 'The Runner' apart is its sense of physical momentum. The track doesn't just suggest movement; it demands it. The main riff has a swaggering, bottom-heavy "stomp" that feels more grounded and earthy than the flighty math-rock of their early days. It’s a prime example of the band's mastery of "chiaroscuro", the play between light and dark, both in the lyrics and the sonic textures. The verses feel tight and shadowed, only to explode into a chorus that feels like breaking through the tree line into open air.
Musically, the production is dense and muscular, with the rhythm section providing a steady, driving pulse that mimics the literal pace of a runner. The backing vocals, repeating "Step by step I'll keep it up," add a haunting, almost choral quality to the track, emphasising the internal monologue of someone refusing to give in.
In a live setting, 'The Runner' has quickly cemented itself as a fan favourite for its sheer visceral impact. There is something primal about the way the crowd chants "keep on running" back at the stage; it transforms from a personal song about struggle into a collective moment of catharsis. It’s a track that showcases Foals at their most robust, a band that has shed its skin time and again but has ultimately found its greatest strength in the power of the heavy, rhythmic groove.
For many fans, this was the gateway. It’s the song that stripped away the jagged edges of their early math-rock sound and replaced them with a sleek, irresistible pop sensibility. It was the first Foals song I ever heard, and like so many others, I was instantly hooked by that bright, interlocking guitar work and the propulsive energy of the rhythm section. Released as the second single from 'Holy Fire' in 2013, it remains their most recognisable track and a staple of indie-disco playlists across the globe.
Beyond the vocals, the true star of the show is the sheer, infectious nature of the instrumentation. The track is built on a foundation of clean, percussive guitar riffs that weave in and out of each other with clockwork precision. It’s a masterclass in the "less is more" philosophy; every pluck of the string feels essential, creating a rhythmic tapestry that is impossible to shake once it’s in your head. Even the synth lines are used with expert restraint, adding a shimmering, melodic layer that elevates the track from a standard indie song to something much more atmospheric and widescreen.
There is a tactile, physical quality to the way the instruments interact here. From the driving bassline that anchors the groove to the bright, glassy textures of the lead guitars, everything about 'My Number' is designed to be catchy in the truest sense of the word. It isn't just the chorus that sticks with you; it’s the way the whole track breathes and bounces. It proved that Foals didn't need to be loud or gnarly to command attention; they just needed a groove so tight that it felt like it had always existed.
Despite its massive popularity and ubiquitous presence on the airwaves, 'My Number' is a track that everyone seems to know by heart, yet it peaked outside the traditional Top 20. However, its lack of chart-topping silverware hasn't hindered its legacy; if anything, it solidified Foals' status as a band that could bridge the gap between underground credibility and massive, cross-over appeal without losing their soul. Even years later, the opening bars still possess the power to shift the energy of a room, representing a pivotal moment where they proved they could move both the heart and the feet on their own terms.
If 'My Number' was the song that invited everyone to the party, 'What Went Down' is the song that tears the house down. The title track of their 2015 album marked a seismic shift in the band’s sound, trading in the polite flickers of indie-pop for a raw, predatory snarl. It is, quite simply, the heaviest thing they have ever put to tape, and it remains the undisputed heavyweight champion of their live set.
Lyrically, the track is a fever dream of aggression, regret, and primal instinct. Yannis paints a grim, cinematic picture of "burying my heart in a hole in the ground" among the "vultures and the trash downtown." There is a menacing confidence to lines like, "Don't step to me, kid, you'll never be found / 'Cause while you were sleeping, I took over your town." It feels less like a song and more like a territorial claim. The central tension, the animalistic struggle of "When I see a man, I see a lion / When I see a man, I see a liar", perfectly captures the duality of the human condition that the band explores throughout the record.
The instrumentation is just as savage. The song is anchored by a tectonic, fuzzed-out riff that feels like it’s vibrating through the floorboards. It builds with a terrifying momentum, layering percussion and distorted guitars until it reaches that explosive finale. By the time Yannis is screaming "I'm a sympathetic animal" over a wall of sonic chaos, the transformation is complete. It’s the sound of a band letting go of all restraint and embracing their most "sycophantic" and "visceral" impulses.
What makes 'What Went Down' so iconic is how it redefined what a Foals song could be. It proved that they could be just as effective as a heavy rock band as they were as math-rock technicians. It’s a cathartic, blood-pumping anthem that demands your absolute attention, and it’s impossible to imagine a Top 10 list without it sitting right near the heart of the ranking.
If 'What Went Down' is the band’s physical peak, 'Spanish Sahara' is undoubtedly their emotional zenith. Taken from their sophomore album 'Total Life Forever', this track changed everything for Foals. It was the moment they proved they could move away from the frantic, jagged edges of their debut and create something expansive, atmospheric, and deeply moving. It’s not just a song; it’s an experience that haunts you long after the final notes fade.
The track is a masterclass in the slow burn. It begins with a delicate, pulsing beat and a skeletal guitar line, mirroring the vast, shimmering emptiness of a desert landscape. Lyrically, it’s devastating. Yannis leads us into a "haze" and "million dirty waves," describing a trauma or a memory that he’s desperate to bury. The recurring mantra "Forget the horror here / Leave it all down here" feels like a plea for catharsis, trying to wash away the "future rust" and "future dust" of a broken relationship or a past life.
The genius of 'Spanish Sahara' lies in its structural crescendo. As the song progresses, the atmosphere thickens, and the rhythm section begins to swell like a tide coming in. By the time we reach the final act, the quiet desperation has transformed into a towering wall of sound. The imagery of being "the ghost in the back of your head" and a "choir of furies" in the bed hits with an incredible emotional weight. It captures that feeling of being haunted by something you cannot escape, no matter how much sand you wipe from your eyes.
It remains perhaps the most beloved track in their entire discography, often serving as the emotional centrepiece of their live shows. It’s the sound of a band finding its soul, trading the "math" for the "magic." 'Spanish Sahara' stands as a cinematic masterpiece of modern indie rock, a song that is as beautiful as it is brutal.
Found deep within the tracklist of 'Holy Fire', 'Milk & Black Spiders' is a song that has undergone a fascinating journey from a beautiful album cut to an absolute essential in the Foals live experience. It is a track that rewards patience, beginning as a tender, spacey ballad before blossoming into a rhythmic explosion.
Sonically, the track shares a significant amount of DNA with 'My Number'. Both songs utilise those signature, clean guitar textures and a bright, percussive pulse that makes the band’s 'Holy Fire' era so distinctive. However, where 'My Number' stays in its groove, 'Milk & Black Spiders' uses that same foundation to build something much more atmospheric and yearning. The interlocking guitar lines are there, but they are submerged in a "green broken glass ocean" of reverb and delay.
Lyrically, it is one of Yannis’s most sincere and vulnerable moments. It’s a song about distance and the grounding power of a specific person, the "compass" and the "sea" that keeps him steady while he’s "million miles away." The repetition of the line "'Cause I've been around two times / And found that you're the only thing I need" acts as a rhythmic anchor, mirroring the way the music slowly intensifies from a "slow motion" break to a frantic, cathartic finish.
As the track reaches its fever pitch, the lyric evolves into the more poignant, "'Cause I've been around two times / And found that you're my only friend in need." It’s a beautiful acknowledgement of dependency and true companionship, shifting the song from a simple profession of love into something much more grounded and real. That slight change in wording, moving from "thing" to "friend", adds a human warmth to the track that resonates deeply.
The reason this has become such a massive live favourite is the second half. When the drums finally kick into overdrive, and the refrain becomes a soaring, collective chant, the energy shift is palpable. It captures that unique Foals ability to take a personal, intimate sentiment and turn it into a widescreen moment of unity. It’s a song that proves the band don't need a radio-friendly structure to create an anthem; they just need a bit of heart and a lot of build-up.
The frontman never escapes his watery prison. 'A Knife In The Ocean', the swelling album climax from 'What Went Down', is built on a tapestry of artful guitar mist in the grand tradition of 'Spanish Sahara'. It finds Yannis watching “the things we once believed… lost to the depths of a hungry sea” as a megalithic whale-song riff sails by overhead. It is a song of total desolation, yet it proves, once again, Foals potential to be the most inspired and inspirational band of their generation.
Lyrically, the track feels like a final reckoning with the passage of time and the legacy we leave behind. Yannis asks the heavy questions: "And now our parents are long departed / Who can finish the songs they started?" There is a profound sense of anxiety about the future being "colder" now that we’re older, leading to the desperate plea to "unstitch the suture, please pause the future." It captures that universal fear of being forgotten, where everything we once held dear is reduced to "the trace of a memory" or "the echo of a roaring sea."
The track is a masterclass in scale, utilising space in a way that few indie bands dare. The "whale-song" riff that enters during the climax is one of the most iconic sounds in the Foals arsenal, a soaring, distorted melody that feels like it’s being broadcast from the bottom of the Atlantic. It’s a moment of pure sonic awe, where the "artful guitar mist" of the verses suddenly gives way to a crushing, melodic weight. This contrast perfectly mirrors the lyrical transition from the quiet contemplation of the "Ps and Qs" to the realisation that we are all just "a token of what is surely to come."
Yet, amidst the existential dread, there is a core of iron-willed defiance. The refrain "The fire is coming, but we'll outrun it / We'll never be undone" serves as a powerful counterpoint to the "hungry sea." It’s a mantra of survival in the face of inevitable change. Furthermore, 'A Knife In The Ocean' serves as the ultimate spiritual successor to 'Spanish Sahara'. While the latter was about the attempt to "forget the horror," this track feels like the moment the horror is finally accepted as part of the cycle of life.
It’s a funeral march for the modern age, but one played with such grace and power that it feels more like a celebration of endurance. When the track finally dissolves into "the trace of a memory," you aren't left feeling empty; you're left feeling like you've witnessed something monumental. It is the definitive proof that when Foals go "big," they don't just reach for the stars; they reach for the deep, dark, and profound.
If there is one song that defines the DNA of Foals more than any other, it’s 'Two Steps, Twice'. While newer fans might have come aboard during the stadium-rock era of 'Holy Fire' or 'What Went Down', this track is a frantic, neon-lit reminder of where it all began. Hailing from their 2008 debut 'Antidotes', it is the ultimate math-rock manifesto, a jittery, high-energy puzzle of interlocking guitars and cowbells that has remained an untouchable cornerstone of their career.
It isn't just a song; it’s a ritual. For nearly two decades, 'Two Steps, Twice' has served as the definitive closer to almost every Foals headline set. It is the moment where the band and the audience reach a state of total, rhythmic synchronicity. Whether it was their legendary headline slots at Glastonbury or their triumphant moments atop the main stage at Reading & Leeds, this is the track they use to leave the stage in ruins. It usually involves Yannis disappearing into the crowd, a sea of mosh pits, flares and a climax so huge, it makes festival fields shake.
Lyrically, it’s a surrealist invitation to the "Sunset disco." The repetitive, rhythmic chants of "Sun side, dance step for two" and "Let’s swim, let’s swim, let’s swim this off" aren't meant to be over-analysed; they are meant to be felt. It’s about the physical release of the dancefloor, the "one step, two step" of a crowd losing its collective mind. The "ba-ba-da" vocal hook is one of the most infectious moments in indie history, a melody that thousands of people scream back at the stage long after the band has stopped playing.
The genius of 'Two Steps, Twice' lies in its structure. It starts with that iconic, clean guitar line and slowly layers on the pressure, "speeding the bikes" until the track reaches its breakneck finale. It’s a masterclass in tension, release, and pure, unadulterated joy. To see it live is to understand why Foals are regarded as one of the best live acts in the world; it’s the sound of a band that knows exactly how to push a crowd to the limit and then over the edge.
If push comes to shove, 'Life Is Yours' is my favorite Foals record. It represents a total pivot for the band—a departure from the weight of the world and a dive into pure, unadulterated joy. As Yannis Philippakis told NME, this was their idea of a "going-out record," written with the "youthful excess" of club nights, meeting friends, and being drunk on the bus at 2 AM in mind. While Foals have always flirted with the dancefloor on tracks like 'My Number' and 'In Degrees', they never fully lost themselves to the party until this album.
'Looking High' sits at the heart of this transformation. It is a glittering, Balearic-infused masterpiece that feels like a neon-lit search for a lost night out. Lyrically, it’s steeped in the "nostalgia of the aftershow," with Yannis "looking high, looking low / For where all our friends used to go." It perfectly captures that bittersweet feeling of searching for a vibe or a place that might not exist anymore, yet wanting to be right there "when life's returning." It’s a song about transition, skipping town, finding new ground, and hoping to see the streets return to their former glory.
The track shares its DNA with the heavyweights of dance-rock, deserving a place alongside the likes of Primal Scream’s 'Screamadelica' or New Order’s 'Technique'. It has that rare quality of being club-ready without needing a remix; the tension and release are baked into its very core. It anchors an album full of infectious highlights, from the disco-strut of '2001' and the frantic energy of 'Wake Me Up' to the relatable, hazy storytelling of '2am' and the hidden-gem groove of 'Under the Radar'.
Choosing 'Looking High' as the number one spot is a testament to Foals’ incredible longevity and ability to reinvent themselves. After nearly 20 years, they managed to release a record that feels as fresh as their debut but with a newfound sense of "wild abandon." It’s a song that makes you move, but with no cheap thrills, just pure, high-fidelity Foals magic. It’s also one of Yannis’s most impressive vocal performances, utilizing a shimmering falsetto that floats over the track like a disco-ball reflection, a far cry from the gravelly roars of their heavier era.
This track, and the 'Life Is Yours' era as a whole, serves as a vital reminder of the band's versatility. While songs like 'Wake Me Up' or '2am' provided the immediate hooks, 'Looking High' provides the soul of the party, the part that stays with you when the sun starts to peak through the blinds.
It’s the sound of a band that has been through the fire and decided that, actually, the best way to survive is to just keep dancing. By placing it at the summit of this list, we recognize that Foals aren't just a band of the past or the present; they are a band that continues to find another way to define the future of British music.
Looking back at this list, it’s clear that Foals are far more than just another indie band that survived the late-2000s boom. They are a rare breed of artist: one that possesses the technical discipline of a mathematician and the wild, unpredictable heart of a lion. From the sprawling, cinematic depths of 'Neptune' to the shimmering, neon-soaked heights of 'Looking High', their discography is a map of a band constantly outrunning their own shadows.
Whether they are exploring the "future rust" of our world or inviting us to a "sunset disco," Foals have mastered the art of the pivot. They’ve proven they can be the heaviest band on the bill, the most atmospheric, and—as they’ve shown most recently the life of the party. They remind us that growth doesn't mean losing your roots; it means having the courage to "unstitch the suture" and see what else you can become.
As we look toward whatever comes next for Yannis, Jimmy, and Jack, one thing is certain: it won't be boring, and it certainly won't be stagnant.