Author: Richard Cosgrove
At last! I've found a world-class event that not only am I very good at, but that with a little practice and dedication I could actually become world champion at! What endeavor is this, I hear you cry? Well, it's the ancient art of, errrrr, air-guitaring!
I was flicking through the several thousand channels that NTL thoughtlessly pumps into out flat the other night, and lo and behold, came to rest on Kerrang! TV and the world air-guitaring championships! I immediately sat up straight on the sofa and watched, jaw drooping, fingers twitching, as the last 17 years just melted away and I was 17 again, on the dancefloor at Rock City in Nottingham (just about the only floor area on the club that wasn't soaked with beer, vomit and other stains that it's best not to think too much about.....) and assuming the position that only the die-hard rock fan feels instinctively contorted into when he/she hears loud guitars.
Feet placed well apart, the better for testing the spandex in your trousers (and for displaying the uncomfortably tight crotch area - uncomfortable not only for the wearer, but also for anyone within viewing distance), left arm thrust out at a 79 degree angle to the upper torso (scientifically proven to be the optimal stance for the air-guitarist*), right arm frantically moving up and down in the crotch area fast enough to produce a blurring effect, and head titled every so slightly to the side, the better for displaying the unique amalgamation of pleasure and agony that is to be found on a soloing guitarists face. (*this may be bollocks)
I digress. On screen, we were treated (subjected?) to the sight of a dozen men and one young lady (who was apparently the US champion of some state or another) throwing their best 'shapes', pulling their best 'faces' and generally cavorting around the stage (and it was a big stage, with a huge crowd that had gathered just for THIS EVENT! And yes, it was in Japan, where they have a penchant for such entertainment......) to the sounds of The hives "Idiot Walk", which I couldn't help thinking had been specially chosen with tongue firmly in cheek.
This, we discovered, was the elimination round, from which a half dozen of the best (worst?) performers were chosen to compete in their individual rounds, to the music of their choice. The lucky finalists included said female US champion, a young man dressed almost entirely in cling film with a rubber glove stretched over the top of his head and a bucket gaffa-taped to his ass (called somewhat inevitably ‘BucketButt’), Angus Young's long lost doppelganger, and disturbingly, a Japanese man dressed in a suit, his tie around his head, who looked as though he had been in the middle of an important meeting to discuss his company's future when the madness had seized his soul and he ran, frothing at the mouth, fingers-a-twitching to the championships to strut his rockin' stuff.
The enthusiasm and, dare I say it, professionalism with which these finalists approached their respective showcases was nothing short of inspiring, with one of them (dressed seemingly by Justin Hakwin's mum, and known as "The Tarkness") even playing some most impressive air-tapping before whirling his imaginary guitar around his head and smashing it into, well, no pieces at all on the stage, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.
Most of the competitors appeared to be either European (and largely from the likes of Belgium, Sweden and other countries where there obviously isn't much in the way of entertainment) or Japanese (where they're all just plain insane in the membrane anyway!), but our fair isles were represented by a skinny Irishman known as Smell Gibson, who had taken his mum along for the trip (and he wasn't the only one, which seemed to suggest that while being a real guitarist in a real band might well pull in the chicks, playing with, errr, yourself obviously didn't). He gave his all for his allotted time, before coming offstage exhausted, but happy. In the end he came towards the bottom of the rankings, but at least he enjoyed himself.
As the hour dragged on, it came down to a battle between the two finalists - Miss USA, and The Tarkness. Plectrums were raised, axes strapped on, and the showdown began. They both played absolute blinders, with the technical proficiency of The Tarkness being matched lick for lick by the sheer abandon of Miss USA. In the end the result was...........a draw! So, as I bit my nails down to the quick on the sofa, it was sudden death - both contenders facing off against each other in a simultaneous duel. Furiously whirling about the stage, it seemed that nothing could separate these two as they matched each other lick for lick, move for move, face for face, until finally, Miss USA pulled a master stroke. As The Tark (as I was now calling him) stood legs astride, face contorted, peeling of a blistering solo, Miss USA slid between his legs to perform a fretboard-shredder whilst lying flat on her back.
Exhausted, the two eagerly awaited the judges decision, and after much deliberation, Miss USA was crowned 2004 air guitarist of the year! I slumped back in my seat, drained, fingers twitching and reflecting on possibly the best hour of television for a long, long time. So, only 11 months to go until next year's championship - I'm staring to practice now because I'm sure I can take the title.......
At last! I've found a world-class event that not only am I very good at, but that with a little practice and dedication I could actually become world champion at! What endeavor is this, I hear you cry? Well, it's the ancient art of, errrrr, air-guitaring!
I was flicking through the several thousand channels that NTL thoughtlessly pumps into out flat the other night, and lo and behold, came to rest on Kerrang! TV and the world air-guitaring championships! I immediately sat up straight on the sofa and watched, jaw drooping, fingers twitching, as the last 17 years just melted away and I was 17 again, on the dancefloor at Rock City in Nottingham (just about the only floor area on the club that wasn't soaked with beer, vomit and other stains that it's best not to think too much about.....) and assuming the position that only the die-hard rock fan feels instinctively contorted into when he/she hears loud guitars.
Feet placed well apart, the better for testing the spandex in your trousers (and for displaying the uncomfortably tight crotch area - uncomfortable not only for the wearer, but also for anyone within viewing distance), left arm thrust out at a 79 degree angle to the upper torso (scientifically proven to be the optimal stance for the air-guitarist*), right arm frantically moving up and down in the crotch area fast enough to produce a blurring effect, and head titled every so slightly to the side, the better for displaying the unique amalgamation of pleasure and agony that is to be found on a soloing guitarists face. (*this may be bollocks)
I digress. On screen, we were treated (subjected?) to the sight of a dozen men and one young lady (who was apparently the US champion of some state or another) throwing their best 'shapes', pulling their best 'faces' and generally cavorting around the stage (and it was a big stage, with a huge crowd that had gathered just for THIS EVENT! And yes, it was in Japan, where they have a penchant for such entertainment......) to the sounds of The hives "Idiot Walk", which I couldn't help thinking had been specially chosen with tongue firmly in cheek.
This, we discovered, was the elimination round, from which a half dozen of the best (worst?) performers were chosen to compete in their individual rounds, to the music of their choice. The lucky finalists included said female US champion, a young man dressed almost entirely in cling film with a rubber glove stretched over the top of his head and a bucket gaffa-taped to his ass (called somewhat inevitably ‘BucketButt’), Angus Young's long lost doppelganger, and disturbingly, a Japanese man dressed in a suit, his tie around his head, who looked as though he had been in the middle of an important meeting to discuss his company's future when the madness had seized his soul and he ran, frothing at the mouth, fingers-a-twitching to the championships to strut his rockin' stuff.
The enthusiasm and, dare I say it, professionalism with which these finalists approached their respective showcases was nothing short of inspiring, with one of them (dressed seemingly by Justin Hakwin's mum, and known as "The Tarkness") even playing some most impressive air-tapping before whirling his imaginary guitar around his head and smashing it into, well, no pieces at all on the stage, a huge shit-eating grin on his face.
Most of the competitors appeared to be either European (and largely from the likes of Belgium, Sweden and other countries where there obviously isn't much in the way of entertainment) or Japanese (where they're all just plain insane in the membrane anyway!), but our fair isles were represented by a skinny Irishman known as Smell Gibson, who had taken his mum along for the trip (and he wasn't the only one, which seemed to suggest that while being a real guitarist in a real band might well pull in the chicks, playing with, errr, yourself obviously didn't). He gave his all for his allotted time, before coming offstage exhausted, but happy. In the end he came towards the bottom of the rankings, but at least he enjoyed himself.
As the hour dragged on, it came down to a battle between the two finalists - Miss USA, and The Tarkness. Plectrums were raised, axes strapped on, and the showdown began. They both played absolute blinders, with the technical proficiency of The Tarkness being matched lick for lick by the sheer abandon of Miss USA. In the end the result was...........a draw! So, as I bit my nails down to the quick on the sofa, it was sudden death - both contenders facing off against each other in a simultaneous duel. Furiously whirling about the stage, it seemed that nothing could separate these two as they matched each other lick for lick, move for move, face for face, until finally, Miss USA pulled a master stroke. As The Tark (as I was now calling him) stood legs astride, face contorted, peeling of a blistering solo, Miss USA slid between his legs to perform a fretboard-shredder whilst lying flat on her back.
Exhausted, the two eagerly awaited the judges decision, and after much deliberation, Miss USA was crowned 2004 air guitarist of the year! I slumped back in my seat, drained, fingers twitching and reflecting on possibly the best hour of television for a long, long time. So, only 11 months to go until next year's championship - I'm staring to practice now because I'm sure I can take the title.......
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