‘What Went Down’: the song that made Foals the indie scene’s must-see band
We all know that encores are complete bollocks. Bands walk off stage, waving to us as they do it, to simply stand in the wings, wait for a stir of anticipation before the relentless cheers give way to their on-stage return. It’s stupid, but I love it.
I love the drama, the camaraderie but perhaps more importantly, the chance for a song to punctuate the silence and provide us with a second opener. The very best example of that, which I have witnessed, is Foals’ killer track ‘What Went Down’. Rather than allowing the predictable chants of “one more song” to reign over the interlude silence, they play the singular, haunting chord of ‘What Went Down’. As it bleeds out of the PA, the stage stands still and calm, creating an immersive combination that almost feels like some form of dystopic robot staring at us.
Given the instant recognisability of the note and its part in this beloved and raucous song, it conducts an undercurrent of chaotic energy amongst the crowd, a siren call for energy to be renewed in preparation for this song.
It gives way for provocative frontman Yannis Phillipakis to deliver his captivating opening line of “I buried my heart in a hole in the ground” before three guitar chords stab the space. Those very guitar chords are punchy on the record, but their power is amplified live via the drama of a reverb pedal and a light show.
It’s a song that heartbeat rocks you to your very core and ignites whatever fire existed within Phillipakis during the writing of this song. In fact, you feel the rage of an unlikely cultural figure descend over you. “I wanted to be the songwriting version of the angry Peperami guy in the adverts,” he told NME in reference to this song. Irreverent as it may be, it’s absolutely spot on. Similarly wide-eyed and dexterous, we bounce around to this song with humorous rage.
All parts of the band perform this song with similar vigour. But it’s undoubtedly Phillipakis who makes it what it is. He blurs the boundaries between crowd and stage regularly throughout the song, but crucially on this one, he uses the calmness of the bridge to get in amongst it and feel the palpable air of madness. He joins the ranks in building the tension, screaming the line “when I see a man I see a liar” before jumping into the crowd, finally pulling the pin out of the grenade.
“I just want to go out and devastate some stages,” he said during the press run for this now ten-year-old album. “I want to get to this point where we’re this ruthless and elegant machine. My immediate desire is to be at that place where we’re the most ferocious. I want to lose myself onstage.”
That’s exactly what this song does. Encourages you to lose yourself, to exalt whatever inner rage or frustration you have and embrace the messy chaos of musical camaraderie. It’s a song that shocks fans who otherwise think their set is preoccupied with indie-pop and rewards fans who always recognised the aggressive underbelly. It, to this day, remains one of the best live songs I have witnessed.
