Special Feature

Perhaps the strangest accomplishment of my life occurred on a recent weekend night when I, along with two other individuals, judged the San Diego stop of the U.S. Air Guitar Championships. I have seen plenty of unique people play at the Casbah, but never anything quite like this.

For those unfamiliar with air guitar, just dust off that old VHS copy of Risky Business and check out the scene where Tom Cruise slides across the floor in his tighty whities, rocking out suburban style. That is air guitar in it’s purest form. What makes the U.S. Air Guitar Championships so much fun, though, are the alter-egos developed by the competitors. This turns the event into an intriguing mix of characters that are more WWE than STP. Add to this a heaping helping of every sort of heavy metal imaginable, plenty of exposed skin, spandex, and mustaches and you have the makings for a fun night.

And of course it is inevitable that a competition like this would instantaneously transform itself into a party of casual decadence. On this night at the Casbah, I would lay witness to exposed nipples, bulging fake genitalia, leather vests, fake breasts, and a dousing of alcohol that, at the time, seemed completely logical.

The competition consisted of two rounds. During the first round (freestyle) every competitor who signed up (some seasoned pros, many first timers) was given sixty seconds to perform fake guitar to their choice of music. When they finished, the host (2008 World Air Guitar champion Hot Lixx Hulahan) would ask the judges for their scores while the contestant stood close by awaiting his or her fate. The scoring is on a scale from 4.0-6.0, based on technical merit, stage presence, and “airness” defined as “the extent to which a performance transcends the imitation of a real guitar and becomes an art form in and of itself.” Apparently this is the “gleaming the cube” of the air guitar circuit.

The first round was hysterical. Obvious standouts, the competitors who would most definitely be moving onto the second round, included Lieutenant Face-Melter, The Mustachioed Assassin, and Otto B. Spreadeagle. The most clever entry, and the only one that found the somewhat savage crowd chanting for a “6.0” came courtesy of Danny Tanner Tantrum. A Dockers-clad stage persona based on Bob Saget’s legendary Full House character. Danny even went as far as donning rubber gloves, pretending to scrub the floor of the Casbah at the onset of his routine. The dedication to his character was impeccable. Plus, once the metal kicked in, the guy’s “playing” was on fire. A definite highlight of the night.

Another standout performance was from none other than Valerie Rotten. It had to be seen to be believed. She appeared to be locked into an epic state of “stoned-itude” as she lurched over, bobbing slowly, seemingly playing the world’s tiniest air guitar. It appeared, in a way, as if she was holding an infant – performing some sort of satanic lullaby. As I declared during the judging, it had to be one the most intensely strange thing I have ever witnessed.

Round one also played host to a couple of trios, which was odd since this is grounds for automatic disqualification. Of course, one group was a collection of local strippers who actually gave my friends a business card for their “Gentleman’s Club” after their performance was over. Apparently, even strippers cannot resist the allure of air guitar, even though they are remarkably inept at the activity. It was obvious these three would be handicapped from the start due to the lack of a stage poll. None the less, the crowd didn’t seem too opposed to the eye candy, even though, surprisingly enough, none of these three would be the one girl who would end up flashing the audience that night.

So the first round was fun, but the second round (the compulsory) was where we, as judges, actually had to get down to the nitty gritty. What is most surprising about air guitar is that the best contestants you see up on that stage really want to win the competition. What appears to be a joke to many in the audience is actually quite a big deal to those on stage. Judging this event turns into a delicate balance of keeping the audience entertained via your interaction with the host, the other judges, and the contestants, but also making sure the best performer of the night, the one who displays the most “airness,” actually end up winning.

Lucky for me, I was flanked at the judges table by two air guitar legends, New York’s Björn Türoque, and the winner of last year’s San Diego stop, The Rockness Monster. Since I was always the middle scorer, they could make up for any scoring mis-steps that I may have set forth by adjusting their totals.

The final round is tough because the qualifiers must perform a routine to a mandatory track chosen by the organizers of the event and not the performers themselves. You have to think up a routine on the spot, and your raw enthusiasm, stage presence, and the aforementioned “airness” are the keys to victory in this round. For me, the toughest bad score I had to hand out went to none other than Danny Tanner Tantrum, a first round favorite who just didn’t bring the same energy to his second round performance.

It really boiled down to two air guitarists, Lieutenant Face-Melter and his crazed military antics, and the completely off the wall Otto B. Spreadeagle, who was down to his Underoos by the time the final round started.

Leutenant Face-Melter provided a worthy fight, but in the end this was to be Otto’s night. Imagine a cross between Andy Kaufman, Ron Jeremy and Eddie Van Halen, and you have Otto in a nutshell. His manic enthusiasm was unrivaled, and, to top it all off, mid-routine he rushed the judges table, leaping at me and in the process knocking over an impressive collection of Stella’s I had accrued. It was crazy, hysterical and completely out of the blue. Plus there’s nothing wrong with a nice beer soaking every once in a while.

Otto received 5.9’s across the board, while Face-Melter fell just short via my 5.8. It was a tough call, but in the end the best air guitarist won, even though the first thing I told Otto while presenting him with my score was, “You owe me two and a half Stella’s you bitch.”

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