Illegal Foreign Object

In the ’80s, a music-obsessed kid with little in their pockets had to be resourceful. You could easily employ the five-finger discount at gas stations and bookstores, but malls posed a different problem, especially at music stores. Security cameras typically blanketed the entirety of the stores, and two-way glass stretched across the width of the back wall. Behind the two-way glass were usually two employees — both tasked with catching people in the act of, um, discount shopping.

Luckily, the giant water fountain in the middle of the mall was almost always a source of income (especially if you had someone there to keep their eyes peeled for overzealous security guards). Those fountains were always full of coins — the shimmering wishes of others, awaiting re-appropriation. In hindsight, I can see the karmic ramifications of such an act, but twenty-two quarters bought you two cutout bin cassettes at the Sam Goody. Besides, my family raised me Methodist (the grooviest of Christian faiths when it came to absolution).

Successfully navigating the record store cutout bin required patience, discernment, and a little luck. A little bit of music nerdery never hurt either. For example, knowing that Bob Rock and Bruce Fairbairn, who engineered and produced Bon Jovi’s Slippery When Wet, previously teamed up in 1982 to record a band called Shanghai for Chrysalis Records, and that two of Shanghai’s band members were drummer Anton Fig, aka “The Thunder From Down Under”, from David Letterman’s late-night show house band, and Beau Hill, who got into production work for Ratt’s first three records, allowed you to connect the dots when you spotted an album called Midnight Dynamite from Kix.

“Wait, is this the same Kix with that song ‘Don’t Close Your Eyes’? Hey, Beau Hill produced it — it’s gotta be them!”

Sitting on your bedroom floor, you pored over the cassette tape liner notes for more information. That was how you ran into the name Kip Winger for the first time. Filing that knowledge away proved beneficial two years later when you were back in Sam Goody and noticed a cutout bin tape with Winger down the side.

“How do I know that name? Wait, Beau Hill produced this? Oh shit, I wonder if this is the same Winger that wrote that song ‘Bang Bang (Balls Of Fire)’ on that Kix album?!” Then, if you were lucky, your cable TV-having friend handed you one final puzzle piece by reminding you that you saw the last bit of a video for a song called “Seventeen” at his place.

There was no Internet or cellphones, y’all — we had to remember shit!

Thankfully (I give my dad all the credit for this), I always loved digging through trash in search of treasure, and make no mistake, those cutout bins were hot garbage. Still, if you put in the time, now and again, you could walk away with some gold. That was how I found Winger’s self-titled debut album in the summer of 1989.

For whatever reason, Winger was an easy target in the early-to-mid-nineties. Mike Judge mocked them by putting Stuart, the “nerdy” neighbor routinely belittled by Beavis and Butt-Head, in a Winger t-shirt.

Metallica threw darts at a picture of Kip Winger in the “Nothing Else Matters” video.

When the whole “grunge” thing took off, Winger was one of several platinum-selling bands that found themselves no longer “cool”. The thing is, “cool” was, is, and always will be in the eye of the beholder. I have never given half a shit what radio, TV, print media, or for damn sure social media tells me is cool. In 1991, I loved Nirvana and Alice in Chains. I also loved Depeche Mode, Roxette, the Kentucky Headhunters, Big Daddy Kane, and Anthrax. If I like the sound, I like the sound, you know?

Winger’s debut album is pop rock perfection — a blend of hooks and technique played by four expert-level musicians.

From track one, the groove-heavy “Madelaine”, to track 10, the power ballad classic “Headed For A Heartbreak”, Winger is an exercise in excellence (with Kip Winger and guitarist Reb Beach showing off their otherworldly talents throughout).

Kip’s vocals are on full display on “Hungry”, while Winger’s first big hit, the pop rock (if lyrically unacceptable today) “Seventeen”, showcases Beach’s dexterous dominance. Without “Seventeen”, the band was likely destined for the scrapyard. “We got one play on MTV at 1:55 a.m. On a Sunday morning, no less,” Beach told Guitar Player Magazine. “From there, everything just lit up.”

Flanked by former Aldo Nova keyboardist Paul Taylor and former Dixie Dregs drummer Rod Morgenstein (and buoyed by newfound interest from MTV viewers), Winger set off on a world tour opening for the Scorpions.

It’s hard to believe the band was close to never existing. Through producer Beau Hill, Kip and Reb met each other for the first time. They rubbed each other the wrong way. Kip joined Alice Cooper’s band, playing bass and singing on Alice Cooper’s 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 and 𝗥𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗙𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗬𝗲𝗹𝗹 albums. When Kip decided to do his own thing, Hill insisted Kip and Reb meet again (and that Beach play Kip his stuff). During the first jam session they wrote three songs (including “Seventeen”).

Sahara (later to be renamed Winger) was born.

In the end, the band has had the last laugh. Winger still tours the world and, earlier this year, released its seventh studio album. The band has had a run in music that has spanned parts of five decades, selling millions of records, touring the world multiple times, and releasing a half dozen hit singles. Independently, Kip Winger received a Grammy nomination for his work as a classical composer. He’s worked with Bob Dylan and Alan Parsons.

Not bad for a punchline.

Tracklist:

1. Madelaine 9/10
2. Hungry 10/10
3. Seventeen 10/10
4. Without The Night 9/10
5. Purple Haze (Jimi Hendrix Cover) 6/10
6. State Of Emergency 7/10
7. Time To Surrender 8/10
8. Poison Angel 9/10
9. Hangin’ On 7/10
10. Headed For A Heartbreak 10/10

Grade: 85