A blast of fresh air: battle of the bedroom rock gods

The important part:

"Greatest riffs for air guitar

1 Sweet Child O? Mine
Guns N? Roses"

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2105-2359168,00.html

A blast of fresh air: battle of the bedroom rock gods
Once just a teenage kick, the art of air guitar has exploded into a huge spectator sport. Pat Malone chances his axe-arm among the best at the world championship in Finland

It was when the Japanese headbanger Ikegami ripped off his underpants and flung them to the mob that I sensed I was in trouble. The delirious screams of a thousand crazed Finns seemed certain to settle the issue. I gave it my best shot but not even for Queen and country will I doff the smalls. And anyway, I?d been nobbled.
It was never going to be a cakewalk. This was the air guitar world championship ? the cream of humanity?s invisible-axe exponents had made the holy pilgrimage to the home of the noble art, Oulu in northern Finland, and they weren?t about to roll over and lie down for me.

On the day before the final they have what the Finns call the ?black horse? round, which aims to sweep in maestros the national championships have missed. As a closet air guitarist since the day the music died, I seized my chance and entered.

The cult of air guitar is sweeping the world. From Oulu to Ulan Bator the wielding of the non-existent instrument to loud rock music has exploded out of the bedroom and into the public arena. Britain is one of 20 countries that now send champions to Oulo for a planetary showdown. Next year there will be more.

I had mislaid my costume (in 1972) and spent a fruitless afternoon scratching around the Arctic Circle for a replacement ? tie-dyed loon pants, kinky boots with 4in soles and something fetching in lurex. The lady in the costume shop looked blank and not solely because she spoke only Finnish. Thus I had to settle for one of about 400 Santa suits on the rack.

Finding music was also a trial. The shops had no Wishbone Ash. Anything by the Hamsters? ?Vot iss Hamsters?? Eventually I procured some Hendrix and Status Quo ? plus a three-CD boxed set of Finnish rock anthems (which was crap).

Air guitar, or simply ?air? to its adherents, is a religion. They come from New Zealand and Australia, Japan, Canada, the US and every serious country in Europe. Air is even hot in the United Arab Emirates.

The titans of the art ? Bjorn Turoque, the Destroyer, Mr Magnet, C-Diddy ? live and breathe air. They wear out mirrors practising, make air films, write air books and never miss Oulu. World champions are feted at home and abroad, asked to open music stores, appear at gigs and do television and radio. We are on the verge of creating the first full-time professional air guitarist.

The world championship was bolted onto the Oulu music video festival in 1995 as a mischievous sideshow ? nobody can quite remember who suggested it. Solely by word of mouth, this Arctic monkey business has become a global phenomenon.

Anybody whose foot has twitched at the first bars of All Right Now will know why, but what is surprising is that it is an engrossing spectator sport. There comes a point when the act of the truly talented player transcends mimicry and becomes an art form, where the performer grows in stature on stage and where his (mostly his) playing takes on a unique beauty. At least it does with me.

Oulo, 80 miles from the Arctic Circle, is also home to the world midge-swatting championship and is the birthplace of competitive wife carrying, welly-boot hurling and mobile-phone throwing. Thanks to the warming effect of the Gulf of Bothnia, the temperature rarely drops below -40C so they hold the world winter outdoor swimming championship alongside the ice-fishing marathon. The air guitar contest is out of the same off-the-wall stable.

Air might seem easy but only one in a million can do it well. Regrettably the advantages of maturity ? ruthlessness and rat-like cunning ? count for nothing. I sought guidance from air guru Turoque, alias Dan Crane, author of the seminal tome To Air Is Human.

?It is the purest form of rock music expression,? he said. ?It allows the individual to project the essence of star quality, unencumbered by instrument or having to learn to play tunes. It ought to be compulsory for those who take themselves too seriously.?

It also, apparently, contributes to international understanding, human fraternity and world peace. I put this to Australian champion Clay ?Bangers? Connolly. ?Yeah mate, all of that,? he agreed. ?Plus, you drink a lot of beer.? The trip to Finland was Bangers?s national prize, and like his New Zealand counterpart Ben ?Hellmutt? Greaney, it was the first time he?d been on a plane.

Aware that my own air was rusty I arranged a lesson with Zac Monro, the London architect who was the first non-Finn to win the world title. Monro won with a famously minimalist set involving no acrobatics. He sniffed at my plan. ?If you want to win this thing, ditch the Santa rig, ditch the wig,? he said. ?You just have to be the guitarist, have the guitar, feel the music. If you turn up in a crazy get-up the judges will mark you down.?

I?d settled on Status Quo but Monro said: ?Lynyrd Skynyrd would be better. Sweet Home Alabama ? great song, suits your style.?

As it happened, this was on a double CD called The Best Air Guitar Album in the World III that Monro and Brian May, the Queen guitarist, had put together for EMI and which was available from the organisers? office. Monro gave me a few more tips ? don?t wave the left hand too wildly, don?t try to squeeze too much into a 60-second set, and for God?s sake stop thinking about it.

?You?ll be kakking yourself when you walk on stage,? he said. ?This is normal. No point getting worked up about it.?

I handed my CD to the adjudicators and took my iPod to the hotel to practise. I pranced long and hard in front of the mirror and all the old skill came flooding back. I practised until I was sick to death of Lynyrd bloody Skynyrd. Imagine my surprise, then, when I went to the competition and met the MC. ?Lynyrd Skynyrd not on CD.?

Beg pardon? ?Lynyrd Skynyrd on CD two. CD two missing.?

My CD had been tampered with! It would have to be Quo after all ? Caroline, unrehearsed and off the cuff. I barely had time to dash back to the hotel for the wig.

We clashed at the 45 Club, a smoke-filled black hole where a rabid mob of rock freaks pressed around an impossibly small stage. I had opted for the Sunday jeans, understated shirt and Converses. I was eighth up, and had to watch and wait. Some competitors were hugely theatrical, with costumes, roadies, props and pyrotechnics. A German lady stripped down to some intriguing leatherwork.

Monro was right: there was a degree of dry-mouthed, jelly-kneed kakking as my turn approached. I was called into the spotlight on a beery roar and introduced ? ?From the UK, Pat ?Rock Horror? Malone!? I tripped on the edge of the stage and fell on my face. The crowd loved it ? I might leave it in.

You get 60 seconds to strut your stuff and you?re marked on technical merit, originality and ?airness?, the indefinable star quality on which I?m sure I got my best score. I think that Quo were perhaps the wrong choice. Difficulties arise when your stupid Chinese-made wig threatens to fall off if you incline your head, a certain amount of hair action being a staple of giving good Quo.

I could hear the screaming above the crashing chords but I could see little because the wig had turned around on my head.

My 60 seconds stretched glacially to about a week as I concentrated on keeping the technique going and the wig on. Abruptly the music stopped and I stumbled blindly off stage.

I asked Turoque, who was one of the judges, if he had any constructive criticism. ?Man, you stank up the joint,? he said. ?Bill Wyman could?ve done better.?

Some moments later Ikegami?s underwear came flying off the stage ? he craftily had a spare pair on underneath ? and the jig was up.

Five of the black horses went through to the final. By my own count, I was narrowly sixth. Ochi ?Dainoji? Yosuke, of Japan, who had come second in the black horse, won the final. And the standard of judging was exposed by the fact that the black horse winner came 16th.

I?m quitting near the top. The global cult phenomenon of air guitar is on the cusp of becoming big business, and it can?t be long before Simon Cowell hoves into view and it ceases to have any real meaning.

You can sign up for the next British championship at www.airguitaruk.com. Apart from a shot at global stardom, the winner will receive a fantastic three-CD box set of Finnish rock anthems. In the world championship the prize is a real guitar. What an insult!

For more details on the world air guitar championship visit www.airguitarworldchampionships.com

Greatest riffs for air guitar

1 Sweet Child O? Mine
Guns N? Roses

2 Smells Like Teen Spirit
Nirvana

3 Whole Lotta Love
Led Zeppelin

4 Smoke On the Water
Deep Purple

5 Enter Sandman
Metallica

6 Layla
Derek & the Dominos/Eric Clapton

7 Freebird
Lynyrd Skynyrd

8 Back In Black
AC/DC

9 Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)
Jimi Hendrix

10 Paranoid
Black Sabbath