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**Badfinger - Straight Up**
★★★★☆

In the grand pantheon of rock tragedies, few stories cut as deep as that of Badfinger. By 1971, the Welsh quartet had already tasted both the sweet nectar of Beatles patronage and the bitter dregs of industry exploitation. Their third album, *Straight Up*, stands as both their creative zenith and a haunting testament to what might have been – a collection of songs so effortlessly melodic and emotionally resonant that it's almost criminal how the band's story would ultimately unfold.

The path to *Straight Up* was paved with promise and peril in equal measure. Fresh off the success of "Come and Get It" – a Paul McCartney-penned confection that had given them their first taste of chart glory – Badfinger found themselves in the enviable position of being Apple Records' great white hope in a post-Beatles world. Yet beneath the surface, cracks were already showing. Management disputes and financial irregularities would soon tear the band asunder, but in those halcyon days of 1971, Pete Ham, Tom Evans, Joey Molland and Mike Gibbins were still believers in the dream.

What emerges from *Straight Up* is a band hitting their stride with remarkable confidence. The album showcases Badfinger's uncanny ability to craft perfect pop songs that never feel calculated or cynical. This is power pop before the term existed, married to a distinctly British sensibility that owes as much to the music hall tradition as it does to Chuck Berry. The production, handled by George Harrison and Todd Rundgren at different sessions, gives the record a schizophrenic but ultimately cohesive feel – Harrison's contributions bearing his trademark slide guitar warmth, while Rundgren's tracks crackle with a more immediate, punchy energy.

The album's crown jewel is undoubtedly "Day After Day," a Harrison-produced masterpiece that finds Pete Ham at his most vulnerable and melodically inspired. The song's gentle acoustic strum gives way to one of the most gorgeous choruses in pop history, while Harrison's weeping slide guitar provides the perfect emotional counterpoint. It's a song about longing and uncertainty that feels both timeless and achingly specific to its era. That it only reached number four on the Billboard Hot 100 seems almost insulting in retrospect.

Equally essential is "Baby Blue," Tom Evans' bittersweet farewell that closes the album with devastating effect. Rundgren's production here is crisp and immediate, allowing Evans' plaintive vocal to cut straight to the heart. The song's later use in the *Breaking Bad* finale would introduce it to a new generation, but its power was evident from the first listen – a perfect distillation of romantic melancholy wrapped in an irresistible melody.

The Rundgren-produced tracks reveal different facets of the band's personality. "Money" showcases their harder edge, with Joey Molland's guitar work displaying a bite that would influence everyone from Big Star to Cheap Trick. "Flying" finds them at their most experimental, building from a gentle piano ballad into a soaring, orchestrated epic that wouldn't sound out of place on a latter-day Beatles album.

Throughout *Straight Up*, Ham and Evans prove themselves to be songwriters of genuine distinction. Ham's contributions lean toward the introspective and melodically complex, while Evans favors a more direct emotional approach. Together, they created a body of work that stands comparison with any of their more celebrated contemporaries.

The cruel irony of *Straight Up* is how perfectly it captures a band on the verge of greatness, unaware that their world was about to collapse. Within a few years, management problems and financial ruin would drive both Ham and Evans to suicide, making this album feel like a ghost story told in three-minute pop songs. The surviving members have kept the flame alive in various incarnations, but nothing has matched the lightning-in-a-bottle magic of these sessions.

Today, *Straight Up* endures as a masterclass in melodic songcraft and a tragic reminder of the music industry's capacity for destruction. Bands like Wilco, Teenage Fanclub and Fountains of Wayne have all drawn from this well, but few have matched Badfinger's combination of innocence and sophistication. In a just world, Pete Ham and Tom Evans would be remembered alongside Lennon and McCartney as masters of the pop song. Instead, we're left with this beautiful, heartbreaking document of what was –