The World Cup is back. So is the annual agonising over the official song. But what, exactly, makes a tournament anthem stick? I spoke to three British composers who have been through the war room. Their answers reveal a game of power, pride, and pure maths.
Mark Thomas, a session musician who has worked on three FA campaigns, is blunt. 'It's not about melody. It's about rhythm. A 4/4 beat that mimics a heartbeat. Or a football. It has to feel like the game.' He points to 'World in Motion' by New Order. 'That bassline. It’s a dribble. The track builds like a counter-attack. And John Barnes’s rap? That was a political choice. The FA needed to show unity after the Thatcher years. And it worked.'
But unity is fragile. I asked about 'Three Lions'. The anthem that broke Brexit Britain. Dr. Eleanor Shaw, a musicologist at King’s College London, says the secret is repetition. 'It’s coming home. That phrase is a hook, yes. But it is also a psychological safe space. It says: we might lose, but we are already home. The public latched onto that. It nullified fear.' However, she warns of a dark side. 'When the song becomes a meme, the message gets lost. The 1998 version, 'Three Lions '98', was a cash grab. It had too many cooks. And a drum machine that drowned the nostalgia. It flopped because it tried too hard.'
Then there is the political pivot. 'Waka Waka' by Shakira for the 2010 South Africa World Cup. 'That was a diplomatic masterstroke,' says Thomas. 'FIFA needed to show the tournament was not just about Europe. The African drums, the call-and-response. It was a bribe to the global south. And it worked. But the chorus is essentially a football chant. Olé, olé, olé. That is the lowest common denominator. It bypasses language.'
But not all songs survive the group stage. 'We Are One' by Pitbull and Jennifer Lopez for 2014? Forgettable. 'The problem,' says Shaw, 'is that it was written by committee. FIFA’s marketing team. It had no soul. Compare to 'Waka Waka' which had a clear cultural anchor. A song without a story is a pre-season friendly. Nobody remembers it.'
What about England’s 2018 song 'Vindaloo'? A pub anthem. 'That was never official,' says Thomas. 'But it became the real soundtrack because it was organic. 'Three Lions' was the establishment pick. 'Vindaloo' was the rebellion. The lyrics are nonsense. But the video had celebrities. It captured the mood of a nation that had just voted for Brexit and wanted to laugh. That is the trick: the song must reflect the moment.'
And now? The 2022 World Cup in Qatar. The official song 'Hayya Hayya' is by Trinidad Cardona, Davido, and Aisha. 'It is safe,' says Shaw. 'Too safe. It sounds like a generic pop track. The lyrics are about better times. But the context is human rights controversies. The song is trying to distract. But the public is not stupid. A great World Cup song can ignore politics. But it cannot pretend that politics does not exist. That is why 'Come On Eire' by The Dubliners for 1990 is still sung. It was a folk song, not a FIFA product. It belonged to the fans.'
Thomas agrees. 'The best songs are not written by pop stars. They are written by crowds. 'Olé, olé, olé' is not a song. It is a chant that escaped the stadium. It works because it is simple and eternal. The next great World Cup song will be a chant, not a track. The labels don't like that. Because they can't monetise a chant. But the fans will win. They always do.'
So what is the formula? Four on the floor. A chorus that works on repeat. A dose of national identity. And above all, authenticity. The composers I spoke to all said the same: a memorable World Cup song cannot be manufactured. It must feel like it has always existed. Like that moment when the ball hits the net. The sound of the game itself.
