Standing in line at Main St. Music in Philly I had a copy of Badfinger’s 1974 Warner Bros. LP Wish You Were Here tucked under my arm as part of my Friday ritual. It hit the shelves in early 2018, part of Rhino Records’ Start Your Ear Off Right campaign. The album reissued in a green colorway’s irony was not lost on me. It was puzzling and sad to me that the album would be reissued, a lifetime away from anything that would have saved or supported the band’s surviving members. Instead, it potentially haunts our collection — a footnote to heartbreak, a last straw for singer Pete Ham, and the dawning of a shadow that the band has never fully emerged from, creatively or critically.
Years have only added mythology around the suicides of Ham (and later co-writer Tom Evans) — the story being about their crooked manager, lost money, and desperate hours. Lost in the funeral-like shroud synonymous with retelling the band’s story is the music. Their Apple Records era of songs were radio staples. “Without You,” “No Matter What,” and “Baby Blue” are the type of songs we know when we hear them, but never remember who sang them originally. All three of these songs are amazing and have found their way (to various degrees) into the pop culture psyche, but none of them, luckily enough appear on Wish You Were Here. I use “luckily” here with only a touch of irony, mind you, as Badfinger’s story has never been fueled by luck.
In this light, it would make sense to see Badfinger’s early Apple albums like Straight Up or No Dice be prime for high-profile reissue. These albums have never seen a proper vinyl re-release to capitalize on various “iron is hot” moments as a part of the Record Store Day-esque revival.
The Multiple “One Hit Wonder”
While “No Matter What” has been recognized for its 70s AM radio gold (used to perfection in the film The Holdovers), the Ham/Evans song “Without You” has become a true pop standard. When Mariah Carey covered the song in ‘94 and released it as the third single from Music Box, the song was everywhere.
From top 40 stations to MTV, you could not escape the shimmering ballad. The warm and romantic verses by Ham colliding with the desperate intensity of Evans’ chorus gave you hope and heartbreak with equal aplomb. In many ways, Mariah Carey’s version feels like we are experiencing “Without You” in its final form — the potential of its melodrama and range coming to bear its bittersweet fruit. That said, I’ll always choose the original Badfinger version, for all its flaws and sepia-toned melancholy.
Another Badfinger classic “Baby Blue” would bring the band back to the surface after it became the coda to Breaking Bad’s series finale. On Spotify, streams of the song exploded by 9000% days after the episode aired, seemingly rescuing the band from obscurity, yet again.
It feels like death is the only thing that gets written about Badfinger at length, and even when I came to the page to talk about the album, it was unavoidable. That said, the Grim Reaper is nowhere to be found in the grooves or choruses of Wish You Were Here.
Bad Luck and Worse Business
After repeated spins of Badfinger’s final album with the original line-up, I am trying to escape the gravity of its history. Once you know the Shakespearean tragedy surrounding Wish You Were Here — that the album was rushed to be recorded only to be unceremoniously removed from record shelves due to ongoing litigation between the label and the band’s management (the sizeable escrow account that Warner Bros established for Badfinger’s two albums had “vanished” into manager Stan Polly’s wallet) — there’s a gordian knot tying the songs to the band’s fate. Months after the record vanished from the shelves, Pete Ham took his life.
It feels like death is the only thing that gets written about Badfinger at length, and even when I came to the page to talk about the album, it was unavoidable. That said, the Grim Reaper is nowhere to be found in the grooves or choruses of Wish You Were Here. It doesn’t feel as desperate as the circumstances around the release would have you believe. When you compare the album cover to Straight Up (their third album), you could easily make the case the faces staring back at you are less world-weary and more celebratory.
Perhaps it’s just the concept of Wish You Were Here’s cover (a photograph on a bar featuring the band dressed as shoreleave sailors well in the cups). Still, there’s a truth uncovered here, one that predates all the baggage music historians and armchair rock critics assigned the LP in retrospect. The cover feels warm and boozy, hours away from the last call but deep enough into the evening that everyone’s not feeling any pain. There’s no desperation in these faces, just a bunch of friends at a pub in the heart of anywhere Saturday night. It fits the ragged but right vibes of the album, rollicking, and reflective, but never overwhelmed with nostalgia’s weight.
Unlike the Apple records instant singles, Wish You Were Here feels best consumed whole. There aren’t standouts in the same way the second and third albums rolled out. Maybe time and circumstance had a hand in potential singles like “Know One Knows,” “Just a Chance,” or “King of the Load,” from ever being earmarked for radio rotation, regardless, the real beauty and truth of the album comes from a full spin through.
Obscurity = Art?
Last spring, I was cratedigging at a Nashville record fair when two seasoned record collectors were talking about Wish You Were Here, after stumbling over a deluxe CD edition in the bargain bin. They were making the case the album was Badfinger’s best seemingly because of its rarity as if somehow the tragedy of circumstances made the material better.
Obscurity is relative, in the end, and if art is only measured by its rarity, then what are we listening for?
The conversation was so different than the one I had a few years ago in Main St. Music. The store regulars in Philly talked about the album as a footnote, the lack of familiarity opening the door to the rediscovery of a good album for a Friday night. It was not quite a lost album but the record store jury was asking the same question, why reissue Wish You Were Here?
Sitting in my living room on a Monday afternoon in 2024, I give myself over to optimism. Maybe Rhino Records re-released this album free and clear of any tragic anniversaries to draw us back to the album with fresher ears than the ones who usually champion Badfinger in a record store. Appropriately enough, the album starts with “Just a Chance.” Forget the would-be scholars like me, we should be so lucky to have a song make a case for the album’s legacy.
This was an awesome read! Was not familiar with their story, but, oddly had gotten into their music a little deeper only a few months ago. So this piece came at a convenient time! Thanks, Jim