Following their electrifying headline set at this year's Glastonbury Festival, I’ve put together my Top 10 songs by The 1975, a band that continues to redefine pop-rock with each release.
'The Ballad of Me and My Brain' is perhaps the most visceral and erratic track 'The 1975' have ever released: a frantic, two-and-a-half-minute sprint through the crumbling corridors of Matty Healy’s psyche. Hailing from their sophomore album, 'I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It', the song doesn't just describe a mental breakdown; it sonically replicates one.
The track erupts with haunting, pitched-up vocal samples that mimic intrusive thoughts before dissolving into a gospel-tinged, blues-rock frenzy. Lyrically, Matty is at his most desperate and hilariously self-deprecating. He isn't just "wounded" here; he is literally hunting for his lost mind, pleading with his mother to "check the car" or wondering if he left it "on a train or lost in a bar." There is a chaotic brilliance to the line, "Well, I think I've gone mad / Isn't that so sad?" It perfectly captures a specific brand of modern anxiety: the feeling of experiencing a total psychological crisis while simultaneously mocking yourself for it.
Central to the song’s tension is Matty’s deteriorating relationship with fame. As his internal world collapses, the external world continues to make demands of him. This whiplash is perfectly illustrated when he jumps on a bus to search for his brain, only to be confronted by a father asking for an autograph for his daughter, Laura. The fan’s brutal honesty, "She adores you, but I think you’re shit", highlights the dehumanising reality of being a public figure. You are expected to "sign an autograph" and maintain the persona even when you have "no mind" left to give.
Matty’s delivery is breathless, pushing his voice to a strained, melodic yelp that mirrors the rhythm of a racing heart. The absurdity reaches a fever pitch when he finds himself in a clinical setting, met only by a nurse who "feels his pain" while 'Oops!... I Did It Again' blares in the background. By the time the song reaches its haunting conclusion, "forget my brain, remember my name", the tragedy has fully transitioned into a dark comedy about the cost of stardom. It’s loud, theatrical, and deeply uncomfortable, serving as a permanent invitation to join Matty's frantic search party.
By the time 'The 1975' released 'Being Funny in a Foreign Language', they had already weathered their most eclectic and divisive era to date. Its predecessor, 'Notes on a Conditional Form', was a sprawling, restless monolith—the sound of a band testing the absolute outer limits of their identity. That record functioned like a massive digital scrapbook, jumping from the screaming industrial-punk of 'People' to the gentle, country-inflected sobriety of 'The Birthday Party'. It moved through the skittering UK Garage of 'Frail State of Mind' and the stripped-back folk of 'Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America', finally offering a nod to the nineties with the guitar-driven 'Me & You Together Song'. While it gave us the quintessential '80s-pop greatness of 'If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)', the album as a whole was a maximalist experiment that left the band and the fans ready for a recalibration.
Following a global pandemic and the exhaustion of that genre-hopping intensity, their next chapter felt like a necessary homecoming. 'Being Funny in a Foreign Language' isn’t just a tighter record; it’s emotionally sharper and sonically warmer. Working with producer Jack Antonoff, the band traded the MIDI-sequenced complexity of 'Notes' for the "live-in-a-room" energy of a real band. They distilled their sprawling ambitions into something leaner and more immediate, without sacrificing the self-awareness that defines them.
Right at the heart of this "re-focus" sits 'Happiness', a euphoric, sparkling anthem that captures the band in full technicolour. From the opening, elastic bass groove, 'Happiness' bursts with kinetic energy. The guitars chime with a Nile Rodgers-esque shimmer, and there’s a renewed playfulness in Matty Healy’s delivery. He sounds liberated, yet the performance carries that signature '1975' duality; it feels like someone dancing frantically as the floor gives way beneath them. Lyrically, he’s chasing connection and distraction in equal measure, famously claiming, "I’m happiest when I’m doing something that I know is good for me," while the frantic pace of the track suggests he might be trying to outrun his own doubts.
What makes 'Happiness' so compelling is this internal tension. On the surface, it’s one of the band’s most accessible and polished pop moments, but underneath, it’s still wrestling with the same existential threads that have always haunted Matty’s songwriting: the terror of sincerity, the trap of self-sabotage, and the fleeting nature of joy. It’s a song about the "work" of being happy, wrapped in a six-minute jam that feels like it could go on forever. It’s 'The 1975' at their most confident, proving that even when they simplify their sound, their emotional world remains as complex as ever.
'A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships' contains some of the band's most celebrated anthems, yet it also hides some of their most hauntingly overlooked gems. 'Inside Your Mind' falls firmly into the latter category. It finds Matty Healy at his most vulnerable and unsettling, backed by a sombre piano motif that feels heavy with unspoken intent.
The song captures 'The 1975' at their most introspective and perhaps their most chilling. It explores the razor-thin line where romantic devotion curdles into dangerous obsession, shifting the perspective from simple longing to something far darker. There is a profound juxtaposition between tenderness and psychological tension in lines like: "I've been watching you walk / I've been learning the way that you talk / The back of your head is at the front of my mind." It’s a lyrical sleight of hand; what starts as an intimate observation quickly descends into a voyeuristic study of a person who doesn't realise they are being dismantled.
Musically, 'Inside Your Mind' is a masterclass in atmospheric restraint. It draws frequent comparisons to Radiohead, particularly in the way Adam Hann’s jagged, discordant guitar riffs slice through the chorus. These bursts of electric distortion act as a sonic manifestation of Healy’s "twisted thoughts," disrupting the quiet elegance of the piano. The production creates a sense of claustrophobia, mirroring the narrator’s desperate, impossible desire to literally "crack the skull" of their lover just to see what’s inside.
It is a track that rarely surfaces in casual conversation about the band’s greatest hits, but it remains one of their most sophisticated pieces of storytelling. It doesn't just ask what someone is thinking; it demands to know, even at the cost of the relationship itself. For its raw honesty and eerie beauty, it remains a personal favourite.
A standout from the band’s self-titled debut, 'Menswear' has long been a cult fan favourite that defies the typical 1980s synth-pop logic of the rest of the record. While 'The 1975' are often compared to 'INXS' or 'Duran Duran', 'Menswear' looks toward a very different, specifically British influence: The Streets. You can hear Mike Skinner’s DNA in the track’s dry wit and the conversational, almost "documentary" style of the lyricism.
The song is famously split in two. It begins with a meandering, nearly two-minute instrumental, a sprawling blend of muted bass, lazy drum loops, and warm, hazy synths that feel like the slow-motion start to a long night out. It’s an atmospheric masterclass in restraint, building a sense of anticipation before Matty Healy finally utters a word. When he does arrive, he acts as a drunken narrator at a wedding, delivering a stream-of-consciousness report on the chaos unfolding around the free bar.
Healy’s lyricism here is vividly tactile, capturing the messy intersection of high society and low-brow habits: "Spilling amaretto 'cause of previous joints / I'm sitting with a girl, fortunate placing / Preceding railing racket off a porcelain basin." What makes 'Menswear' so striking is its total commitment to this fly-on-the-wall perspective. It perfectly bottles the specific awkwardness of a wedding, the unspoken tensions, the family arguments, and the chemical escapism, all without the need for a soaring chorus or a traditional pop hook.
The song finds its form in conversation rather than melody, relying on the rhythm of Matty’s delivery to drive the narrative home. It deserves its place on this list because, over a decade later, it still sounds incredibly fresh. In the context of their debut album, it was a bold outlier that proved the band wasn't just a "pop" act, but a group of sophisticated storytellers setting the stage for the genre-blurring experimentation that would define their career.
'About You' is the breathtaking penultimate track from 'Being Funny in a Foreign Language'. It is a cinematic, shoegaze-tinged masterpiece, sweeping, ethereal, and emotionally vast. For many, it serves as the spiritual successor to 'Robbers', yet where that earlier track sizzles with the frantic tension of youth, 'About You' drifts in a mature, dreamy haze. It is carried by warbling guitar loops and the spectral guest vocals of Carly Holt, whose refrain "Do you think I have forgotten / About you?" acts as the song’s emotional anchor.
The track’s production is a masterclass in atmospheric density. Featuring lush string arrangements by Warren Ellis (of 'The Dirty Three' and 'Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds'), the song is imbued with a gothic, almost cinematic tension. Matty Healy has described Ellis’s contribution as providing a "moving, weird distortion," crafting a soundscape where nostalgia feels both romantic and slightly unsettling. It’s the sound of a memory that refuses to fade, wrapped in layers of reverb and yearning.
Beyond its studio grandeur, 'About You' has already cemented its legacy as a generational anthem through its live performances. It famously closed out 'The 1975’s headlining set at Glastonbury 2025, swelling into a massive, wall-of-sound finale. As the band embraced on stage under the Somerset stars, it provided an emotional, cinematic conclusion to the biggest performance of their career.
n this countdown, 'About You' holds a special place not for traditional pop hooks or easy sing-alongs, but for its sheer scale. It is a song that feels infinite, a hauntingly unforgettable reminder of the people we carry with us long after they are gone.
Choosing this position was a struggle. I found myself constantly caught between two massive contenders, the second of which will appear later as an honourable mention. Ultimately, 'If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)' takes the spot because it captures 'The 1975' at their most extroverted and euphoric. Released in 2020 as the crown jewel of 'Notes on a Conditional Form', it is a dazzling fusion of 1980s nostalgia and modern pop polish, packed with glittering guitar riffs, soaring saxophone solos, and a chorus that hits with the force of a tidal wave.
From its first shimmering notes, 'If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)' feels like a rush of cold air on a summer night: immediate, refreshing, and exhilarating. Lyrically, Matty Healy is at his most playful and flirty, riding a groove that is impossible to resist. The song acts as a vibrant chronicle of digital-age romance, a connection that exists somewhere between flickering screens and late-night fantasies. It tackles the modern reality of online intimacy and voyeurism, mixing the thrill of the romantic chase with the self-aware awkwardness of asking someone to "take off your shirt" over a video call.
The song’s structure is a masterclass in pop perfection. It builds through its verses and a tension-heavy pre-chorus before exploding into a hook that is both massive and effortlessly smooth. The saxophone break in the middle doesn’t just nod to the power ballads of the '80s; it practically rips through the track, providing a moment of pure, unfiltered euphoria.
In a live setting, this song transforms into a communal celebration, a sea of arms in the air and lyrics shouted back with genuine joy. Even on record, it remains a meticulously crafted pop high that never loses its sparkle. Amidst a discography often defined by dense genre experiments and sombre introspective detours, 'If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)' stands out as one of the band’s most unabashedly fun and instantly gratifying moments. Put simply, it’s brilliant
At number four, we have 'The 1975', specifically the iteration that opens the band’s 2022 album, 'Being Funny in a Foreign Language'. Every 'The 1975' album begins with a self-titled track, but this version is a radical departure from its predecessors. Gone are the glitchy electronics of the 2013 debut, the shimmering pop of 2016, and the Greta Thunberg-led environmental manifesto of 2019. Instead, this version is built on a foundation of "minimalist maximalism," trading the band's usual sonic clutter for a propulsive, looping piano motif that places Matty Healy’s voice front and centre.
Lyrically, the song is part confessional and part scathing social commentary. Healy delivers a tumbling stream of observations on internet addiction, performative politics, and the exhaustion of modern life, all without the protective layer of irony that often coats his writing. It feels raw and almost uncomfortably intimate. Lines like "I’m sorry if you’re living and you’re 17" cut through the noise with a jarring mix of humour and melancholy, setting the stakes for an album that prioritises real-world connection over digital abstraction.
There is also a clear, sophisticated nod to LCD Soundsystem here, specifically the track 'All My Friends'. You can hear it in the relentless, percussive piano and the way the lyrics read like a list of fleeting cultural anxieties. Much like James Murphy, Healy blends wit with a profound sense of weariness, turning the banal details of "post-modernist" life into something that feels like a shared prayer.
The minimal arrangement allows the lyrics to breathe. As the song builds, adding layers of strings and a driving rhythm, it remains essentially hymn-like, but the sermon is messy, human, and deeply modern. By opening the album this way, the band invites the listener into a different kind of space: one where the "persona" is stripped away, and you’re left sitting across the table, hearing everything laid bare. In a discography defined by grandeur, this version of 'The 1975' earns its high ranking through its sheer bravery and its willingness to let the music speak for itself.
'The 1975' ventured into uncharted territory with their 2018 masterpiece, 'A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships'. With this record, the band tapped into the collective consciousness of a new generation, creating a sonic time capsule of modern anxiety. For many, 'Love It If We Made It' is the album’s defining moment, a bold, pulsating, and uniquely hopeful anthem wrapped in a scathing critique of the 21st century.
Released during a period of rising global social and political turmoil, the track reflects a moment of profound uncertainty. Matty Healy has been vocal about the fact that the song was born from his own frustrations with the state of the world, amplified by the relentless nature of digital culture. The lyrics read like a "no-holds-barred" state of the union address, tackling everything from police brutality and the refugee crisis to the erosion of truth in the age of social media.
The song is famous for its stream-of-consciousness delivery, a flood of headlines and tweets that many of us consume daily. It touches on heavy themes with jarring directness, referencing racism and environmental decline with a sense of urgency. For instance, the track highlights the grim reality of systemic issues, which are often backed by sobering data; for example, in the UK, individuals from Black backgrounds are consistently found to be over 3 times more likely to be stopped and searched by police compared to their White counterparts. By weaving these "real-world" tensions into the fabric of a pop song, Healy creates a "cathartic scream" for a generation overwhelmed by information.
Yet, amid the biting commentary, the refrain, "I'd love it if we made it", rings out like a mantra. It is a glimmer of hope amidst the disillusionment, a plea for collective progress despite the chaos. The music video mirrors this intensity, bombarding the viewer with a montage of cultural touchpoints: references to Michael Jackson, Kanye West, the Syrian refugee crisis (Alan Kurdî), and the Grenfell Tower tragedy. The visual experience is designed to overwhelm, mimicking the way modern media saturates our senses.
The combination of pop sensibilities with abrasive, industrial-leaning themes is something the band has explored before, but here it reaches a peak of sophistication. Healy’s voice, shifting between sardonic detachment and sincere desperation, drives home a feeling of emotional overload. As members of the "MTV Generation" who grew up on the gold standard of pop, 'The 1975' managed to create a track that is both a powerful, emotive speech about the state of the world and a brilliantly crafted piece of music that remains as relevant today as it was in 2018.
Taking the runner-up spot is 'Give Yourself a Try', the lead single from 2018’s 'A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships'. From its very first seconds, defined by a jagged, piercing guitar riff inspired by Joy Division’s 'Disorder', it was clear that 'The 1975' had entered a transformative new era. They traded the lush, pastel synthscapes of their earlier work for something raw, abrasive, and immediate.
Lyrically, the song functions as part pep-talk and part generational snapshot. Matty Healy addresses the listener with a disarming directness, weaving through reflections on ageing, mental health, and the agonising process of self-discovery. Lines like "You learn a couple things when you get to my age / Like friends don’t lie" are delivered with a perfect balance of cynicism and warmth. It encapsulates the record's broader mission: finding sincerity in an age of knowing humour.
The thematic core of 'Give Yourself a Try' is both simple and profound. It suggests that amid the chaos of "contextual fear" and personal regret, there is immense value in the simple act of trying. It isn't framed as a triumphant victory lap, but rather as an act of quiet resilience, a messy, imperfect step forward. It’s a song for anyone who feels like a "version" of themselves they don't quite recognise yet.
Musically, the repetitive, buzzing guitar riff becomes hypnotic, acting as a fixed anchor while Healy’s stream-of-consciousness lyrics spill over the edges. George Daniel’s tight, relentless drumming maintains a sense of frantic urgency, while the production remains deliberately unpolished to preserve the track's authenticity. In a live setting, 'Give Yourself a Try' is a shot of pure adrenaline; the guitars stab through the air as the crowd bellows back the lyrics in a moment of collective defiance.
At number two, it stands as one of the band’s most vital works, not just for its message, but for the boldness with which it reintroduced 'The 1975' to the world as a band unafraid to evolve, even at the risk of alienating expectations.
I couldn't put together a definitive list of 'The 1975' songs without mentioning 'The Sound', it simply wouldn't be right. This was the track I agonised over for the number five spot, and in the end, 'If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)' only just edged it out.
'The Sound' deserves this special recognition as one of the band's most infectious and unapologetically playful offerings. Released on their 2016 album, 'I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It', it is a glittering synth-pop explosion. Built on a foundation of house-inflected piano keys and an irresistible, walking bassline, the track is a masterclass in high-gloss pop production.
Matty Healy’s self-aware humour is at its peak here as he riffs on fame, toxic relationships, and the band’s own polarising reputation. The music video famously featured harsh critiques of the band flashing across the screen, "pretentious," "unconvincing," "superficial", proving that they were in on the joke the whole time. This wit is wrapped in a soaring gang-vocal chorus that is impossible not to hum: "Well, I know when you're around 'cause I know the sound / I know the sound of your heart."
In a live setting, 'The Sound' is pure kinetic energy. It has become a tradition for Matty to command the entire audience to jump in unison during the guitar solo, turning stadiums and festival fields into a singular, bouncing mass of people. It is a moment where the barrier between the band and the audience disappears, replaced by a communal experience that is as much about connection as it is about the music.
While it didn’t quite crack the Top 10 for this specific list, 'The Sound' remains a foundational cornerstone of 'The 1975’s identity and a must-listen for anyone wanting to experience their signature blend of charm, irony, and pure pop adrenaline.
'The 1975' have spent their career colonising almost every genre imaginable, from '80s synth-pop and UK garage to punk, jazz, and ambient electronica. But on 'I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)', the closing track of 'A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships', they inhabit the soaring grandeur of '90s Britpop and alternative rock to create their most emotive work to date. This isn't just a song; it is a sprawling, high-fidelity epic that sees Matty Healy step out from behind the curtain of metaphors and quick wit to address the darkest corners of the human condition with startling clarity.
The track is a masterpiece of sonic world-building, deliberately reminiscent of the anthemic ballads that defined an era. With its sweeping orchestration and stadium-sized production, it sits in the lineage of Oasis and The Verve. Healy himself confirmed to Pitchfork that he aimed for a midway point between the melancholic weight of 'Bitter Sweet Symphony' and the melodic confidence of Oasis, all while retaining a vocal delivery steeped in the grit of Manchester. Many fans have also noted echoes of Radiohead’s 'No Surprises', where the beauty of the arrangement creates a haunting contrast with the bleakness of the subject matter.
Lyrically, the song is a profound examination of mental health, hopelessness, and the search for meaning in a hyperconnected world. The title itself is a brilliant contradiction, the word "Sometimes" acting as a tether to reality, acknowledging that even the most crushing feelings of suicidal ideation are often transient rather than permanent. It is perhaps the most candid Healy has ever been, inviting the listener to take stock of their own internal life. When he sings, "If you can't survive, just try," he isn't offering a cheap Hallmark solution; he is validating the struggle and suggesting that endurance, however messy, is an act of quiet heroism.
As the finale to an album exploring addiction, digital isolation, and self-destruction, 'I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)' feels like a necessary culmination. It doesn't offer a tidy resolution or sugarcoat the despair; instead, it exists as a massive, cinematic acknowledgement of pain. It is a reassurance that feeling lost is a fundamental part of the human experience.
The word "masterpiece" is often overused in music criticism, but here it feels entirely earned. It is the most human thing 'The 1975' have ever done, a hauntingly beautiful, sky-cracking end to a brilliant album that remains a lifeline for anyone struggling to navigate the modern world.