Winger's New Ride Low on Spark

As I bet most of you are fully aware, the heyday of the heavy metal party ended long ago. Band members either got married, got religion, got families, or some steadying mix of the three. Even still here in 2014 Winger wants to pretend it's 1989 again. "Seventeen" is a real guilty pleasure type clinic in riffs. You wouldn't speak of liking it around the water cooler. Your girlfriend wouldn't be too comfortable with it, particularly since cradle robbing is the subject matter. The lure was how sleazy it got as well as how much sick pleasure could be had wallowing around in the muck with the guys. Reb Beach's guitar solo soared at speeds no radar gun could do justice to. Kip Winger relished in being the perv. A likable craftsmanship carried "Seventeen" into Billboard Magazine's Top 20. 25 years on these guys haven't lost their technical proficiency. It troubles me to inform you that what it's in service of is passe at best, unintentionally chuckle worthy at worst. Everybody's entitled to a fine romp in the hard rock way back machine. You could pick a better vacation spot than the band's new "Midnight Driver of a Love Machine". Are Kip and his pals trying to be stone cold serious? Is Reb's occasionally jarring selection of sounds hinting at living on the razor's edge danger. Are they merely trying to get through the recording session so they can cash their royalty checks faster? Mystery men can be exciting. Mystery material is annoying like a gnat buzzing in your ear. You'd like for a deciding moment to emerge so you can get on with your life but Winger's too tongue in cheek bad ass to grant you mercy. Any more writhing sex games and Trojan condoms would've had to have been made the corporate sponsor. Relax, blog buds. You'll get an explanation. Motley Crue or Judas Priest wouldn't seem too ridiculous uttering these quasi-immortal words but originating from the crawl space close to Kip Winger's uvula they're trying way too hard to convince anyone who'll listen that yeah, it's still OK to admit to liking Winger. "She starts her motor when the sun goes down" doesn't require me to connect the dots for you, does it? "Her body rocks this place like she's from outer space" meets the requirement for that unintentionally chuckle worthy title I alluded to earlier. Kip knew what he was getting into so no pity for you, suspended in adolesence no longer so young man. How about a little love in lyric land for the couch potatoes? "By remote control she'll save your soul". Barcalounger loungers rejoice. Kip's got the arousal inducing remedy you desire. Are you really going to cop a boner with the likes of "She runs on sex and gasoline. She's the midnight driver of a love machine?" If that was any cheesier the Wisconsin Dairy Board would probably demand a third of the net profits. On the flip side the fine folks employed there would likely have the presence of mind to send Kip and his band thank you notes. I bet they weren't expecting Winger to up their profile a hair. Predictably for a song called "Midnight Driver of a Love Machine" a feverish clip is the star attraction. Winger's tripled parked but who really knows or cares where they're dying to get to. If you needed appeasement, here it comes. Yes, Reb Beach remains a mighty guitar slinger. Metal years flashbacks good. Old enough to know better glory period salivating bad. High school reunions can be among the most social awkward experiences you'll ever have. The 2014 version of Winger lands right in that wheelhouse. "Better Days Comin'" is their hot off the drawing board album. "Midnight Driver of a Love Machine" could have benefited from a tune-up before hitting the open road. A better song comin' this isn't.