All hail His Airness.
That would be the winner of the Ashvegas regional of the Air Guitar World Championships.
That would be the dude (shown here) who dubbed himself the All-American Breeder and proceeded to rock the Westville Pub in West Ashvegas last night. He won himself a free trip to LA and a chance to compete for a spot in the world competition held in Finland.
The event was sponsored by Mountain Xpress, and the Westville was packed to the gills. The crowd was hyped. Chicks love guitars (even air guitars, apparently) and the place was packed with ’em, even it was Ashvegas and most of them were lesbians.
I never realized what an imaginary masturbatory pleasure air guitaring is for performers, thrusting their hips forward and strumming their groins wearing their best orgasm faces. It must be quite a thrill. (Even Scott Wickersham gave us a taste of his on Friday during some happytalk with Tammy between news reading on WLOS. Scott, I knew there was a secret Edge in there just dying to get out.)
On the downside, the organization of the competition (the only regional not held in a big city like Boston or chicago or New York) sucked. Royally. Round one dragged on when three people decided at the last minute they wanted to enter (including the Breeder) and round two didn’t get started until after midnight.
The crowd was sloshed. The performers were well into their cups. And the MC had plenty of time to smoke his cigs. (Lame MC joke of the night: How dumb is George Bush? He’s so dumb he thought Social Security was armed guards at a barbecue. Ha. Ha.)
Still, it was goofy fun when the wannabe Stevie Rays and Anguses and Jimis hit the stage. Judges rated stage presence, technical merit and the ever elusive “airness.” I have no idea who the judges were, although they commented, American Idol-like, after every performance.
The All American Breeder definitely commanded the stage. In his first set, he took the stage, turned his back to the crowd, stripped off his shirt, slung his air guitar over his shoulder in perfect pantomime, and rocked.
The judges weeded out the fakes by picking songs for the air guitarists in the second round. They hit ’em up with some Zappa just to see who could hang.
It turned out to be a two-man duel in the finals. The judges cranked up “Paradise City” and let the Breeder and the other guy windmill their way through the entire song. They were ripping off each other’s clothes, bouncing off the walls in the little pub. They rocked it.
All hail the Breeder.
By the way, the event raised hundreds of dollars for Parkinson’s disease research.