Photo: Gabi Porter
It’d been a busy past few months recently, with writing, and recording. I’d been working on some marathon writing sessions and needed a break. Luckily my friend Craig was in town to manage the 2010 National Air Guitar Championships, and invited me to come out for it. I’d gone before, and always had a good time. If there’s one antidote to spending hours typing away in front of a computer screen, it’s a night of yelling at guys on stage in spandex, yet too nerdy for pro-wrestling. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.
I’d first met Craig a few years back, through his non-air-guitar bands – most recently Love Songs, Conquest For Death, and This Is My Fist! And was exposed to the world of Competitive Air Guitar through him. I’ve been to a few competitions over time, starting with a National Championship where he was defending his title (but unfortunately lost, to the local favorite). He’s since recovered his national champion status, and “retired”, and apparently now opts for a more of a production/management/professional role.
I was invited to a “Pre-show press conference” where the contestants try to explain their “background stories,” and more importantly there’s some kind of free food. But my invite was very last minute, and I wasn’t sure on the details so when I showed up to the box office at six, I was told to come back at 7:30. I walked around the neighborhood to kill time, and when I came back there was a line around the corner full of eager air-enthusiasts. Fortunately for me, there was a separate guest list line, which I was second behind the family of the local favorite, who had custom made shirts and no less than three different signs to hold up. It took me a while to get in, but I did get to witness the spectacle of a stretch limo pulling up and dozens of contestants getting out, at least one with a full entourage.
By the time I finally get inside, the opening band is in the middle of playing – I can’t help but find it somewhat ironic that an air guitar competition is opened with a real band, but they usually find some interesting choices; this time it’s a marching band, of all horns and drums, playing mostly hard rock and metal covers, with a few originals sprinkled in for good measure.
Waiting for the actual show to start, I do some people watching. One of the things that fascinates me is how I can never really figure out the crowd in attendance, like at most shows. For example, nothing but hipsters at the indie rock show, the hardcore dinosaurs that come out for the punk reunion show, and so forth. But at the air guitar championship, there are people of all ages; from the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen, to some of the biggest nerds you’ve ever seen. Years ago, as “ironic” argyle prints and horn rimmed glasses came into fashion, I’d thought to myself “It would be kind of funny to start up a ‘Riot nrrrd movement’, for “the real nerds try to reclaim what’s theirs.” As I continue to look around I can’t tell if that’s already happened, or the exact opposite has already happened.
Finally, its show time. It doesn’t take long for things to get going, and within moments I’m watching some fine air guitar, as well as heckling from the judges (though one makes a “show us your tits” type comment to one of the female contestants, and I can no longer tell which side of the irony fence we’re standing on). I notice that this year there seems to be more and more showmanship. In addition to wilder outfits, contestants take their time making their way to the stage. “The Bride Of Rock” is carried to the stage on a chair, from the back of the room. While I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, I’m also noticing that more and more people in the audience actually have favorites, where I can’t help but think, “You mean, you actually cheer for just one person?”
Perhaps these people all know something I don’t, because I end up tiring myself out faster than I’d like to admit. When contemplating what to do, the lazier half of my conscience (imagine a devil, laid back on a recliner in front of a television) starts to argue, “You’ve seen one air guitarist, you’ve seen them all.” It has been a long week; I’m tired of standing, and eventually take off just before the final round. It’s not that it’s not fun – I’m always a fan of a good spectacle - the timing just isn’t great tonight. As I walk down 14th Street towards the PATH making my way home, I can’t help but feel a little discouraged that Air Guitar (and my own endurance, really) got the best of me. But if nothing else, I have a better idea of what to prepare myself for next year.
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