Mock and Roll 3: Judgement Night

There have been many memorable judges throughout history. Over the eons those such as Dread, Wapner, “Harry” T Stone and Reinhold have all made impactful decisions that have affected the greater good of this race we call human. Though great statues of them exist so future generations can remember the value of their deeds, though libraries contain volumes of lore written of them, and though at least one lives on via syndication rights, all of them lack two bullet points on their impressive CVs that would truly make them legends. One, they’ve never been called Captain Nummy Muffin Coco Butter; and, two, they’ve never judged a freakin’ air guitar contest!

Devil horns when ready, friends, because it’s back to kickstart your heart, it’s better than a 180-gram vinyl reissue of The Very Best of Winger and it’s bigger than Liam Neeson’s fabled God-like nether regions. It’s all that and a bag of pierogi flavoured chips! So get Yahoo Serious with your hairspray, slice a few slits in your Levi’s 501s, turn up the volume in your Lita Ford and get ready to rock and roll all night because it’s not duck season, it’s not rabbit season…hell, it’s not even the season of the witch. It is air guitar season here in Canuck land and, if you’re like me, your elation probably just made the Great White North a little bit whiter.

For metalheads, punkers, pinball wizards, connoissaurus rexes of Ukrainian cuisine, the lovers, the dreamers and me out looking for nothin’ but a good time, we know that heaven isn’t too far away. House of Targ and their win big mama’s fallen angels (aka: Yogi’s; aka: the bearded one is so fluffy) have been levelling up O-town for four sparkelicious years of classic gaming and shows you’ll be telling your children’s children’s children about should they be able to slightly rotate their drooling gobs away from their iPhone 69s! Thank the Lord, Buddha, Vishnu, Galactus, Cthulhu and all the deities in between that the good ship Targy-pop keeps the Canadian Air Guitar Championships on their C.J. Parker-like stacked schedule.

But first, a word from our sponsor!

For the uneducated, curious and those still on the fence over whether or not they are about to rock, we salute you anyway and offer up this quick, Coles Notes primer on the history of air guitar. It all started in the not too distant future (next Sunday A.D.), in a galaxy far, far away called Bedrock when early man couldn’t fathom a way to create an actual guitar from the primitive tools at their disposal. The history books tell of one Frederick Flintstone who, frustrated by such obstacles, violently began thrashing about while seemingly using the very air itself as an instrument. He then, sadly, yaba-daba-died but in his death air guitar was born!

Throughout the ages…yada, yada, yada… and then the 1980s would give rise to new warriors who thrashed out to wicked solos by the likes of Van Halen, Randy Rhoads, Slash and C.C. DeVille! The art of air guitar would be recognized in early competitions but we’d have to wait until 1996 when the great people of Finland first hosted the Air Guitar World Championships. These days you can find networks in Japan, Taiwan, Germany, and even as far as the Shire’s of New Zealand. Though Canada cannot lay bragging rights to a champion yet, we look upon our bronze winners Andrew Buckles (2002) and Cole “Jonny Utah” (2008) who should soon be getting their own well-earned commemorative stamps alongside other Canadian heroes like Terry Fox, Paul Anka and William Shatner.

Sure, slapping together a costume and flailing around to your favourite solo may sound simple but reaching that ultimate air guitar climax and making it all the way to the world stage isn’t easy. Twice I myself have tried and failed in this competition causing me to now hang up my first real air guitar six-string and retire before I am forced to wear a 3 and Oh-face loss record.

So, what then to do when the Air Guitar Canada crew of Sandy “Freakachu” Gibson and Tim “Glen Airy Glen Rocks” Evans calls upon you again for a three peat cameo as they roll back into Targ? Well, as a wise but creepy filmmaker once said: “Those who can’t do, teach. And those who can’t teach, teach gym.” As my past competitive attempts as Captain Nummy Muffin Coco Butter will show (and damn you whoever put those vids up on YouTube!), I wasn’t going to be imparting any Yoda’esq air guitar wisdom to anybody. As for gym…considering my athletic ability ends with the One-Block-Gotta’-Catch-the-OC-Transpo-#95-Dash, I suggested an alternative to el’Freakachu and Snoop Airy Air.
“I’ve done this before,” said I. “I’m a Z-list Ottawa celebrity,” reminded I. I really want those free beer tickets, thought I. “What say we sit me down on the other side of ye ol’ table, smack a white board and couple of markers in front of me and call me Judge Captain Nummy Muffin Coco Butter.”

Mercifully, after two foot massages and a bag of Jelly Bellies, they agreed. Of course, then came the question I had to ask myself aloud at the totally inappropriate time whilst giving a speech at my best friend’s ex-mailman’s father’s great niece’s and former mascot for Zombie Baby Athletic Wear’s funeral: “Why am I not hearing Yanny or Laurel?” This was naturally followed by: “Gee willikers, Wally, how do you judge an air guitar competition anyways?”

Now, I know what you may be thinking…there are rules to a competition where people dress as sasquatches, octopuses and bananas to play #fakeguitars while having to pull out acting performances as believable as Melania’s love and hitting the air harder than Conner McGregor hits a bus. Well yeah, Smokey, this is not ‘Nam. This is air guitar. There are rules.

1. The instrument of an air guitar player, like Pauly Shore’s current career, must be invisible
   2. An air guitarist can play either an acoustic or electric and even both but never the air accordion
   3. Each competitor must participate in a qualifying round (excluding the champion of the previous year, who has direct access to the final) to compete for a place in the final
   4. In said finals, competitors perform two one-minute rounds that include a song of their choosing and a mandatory song chosen by the audience even if it’s something by Trixter
   5. Competitors are allowed to have an air roadie in an effort to include their moms, hot girlfriends and BFFs in the party that rocks the body
   6. But the most important rule, the rule you can never forget, no matter how much they cry, no matter how much they beg, never feed them after midnight

 

As for us judges, we’re asked to score on a criterion that coincidentally includes some of the exact same things my grandmother used to critique cupcakes: originality, charisma, technique, artistic impression and air’ness. Performances are scored by the figure skating method, meaning points are given on a scale from 4.0 to 6.0 with bonuses given to the true Oksana Baiuls that can pull off a triple Salchow double Lutz. Oh yeah, and never judge sober.

After settling in at the judges table, I was called into the back room of Targ where I once stood two years ago quickly accumulating nervousness as a competitor. Now I would be able to see things from the perspective of those who have to give points to all this loony fun. Behind me people were signing up, and while some showed a bit of those pre-show jitters most, like competition regulars like The Space Mime Continuum and Whiskey Pockets, were cool for cats.

As for me, once again, I was underdressed. Fellow judges like Ottawa burlesque darling Killsey Van HellSin –who came looking like a Wakanda warrior nightmare Goddess–, one-time Canadian champion Genevieve “The Phoenix” LeBlanc –who came looking like the Metal Queen she is–, and Jordan Putinski –who came looking like Suns of Stone guitarist Jimmy King– were all dressed for the part. I needed to suit up. Sauntering over to the Air Guitar Tickle Trunk of goodies I snatched up a Rastafarian hat complete with dreads because nothing says rock and roll like a Buffalo Soldier. Oy yo yo!

Putinski, who’s judged the competition every year it has come to Targ, admitted that, like participating, being an arbitrator of Air Guitar is not so cut and dry. Though, from the outside looking in, it can often resemble what the failed to make the cut Avengers would look like trying to shake off fire ants to the tune of “Sweet Child O’Mine”, this is taken seriously by those who brave the waters and tear it up in front of a crowd. Judges respect this and don’t take the competition frivolously.

“If I can close my eyes without closing my eyes and make it seem like the person air-guitaring is actually making that noise then they’ve nailed it,” explained an eyes wide open but somehow still closed Putinski. “Theatrics are great but it’s more for me about hitting the right rhythms and the subtle nuances of making it look like they are playing a guitar.”

It’s the fun of it all that keeps those like Putinski coming back each year, he told me. It’s an event like no other, one where people let loose a side of them they usually don’t let people see unless their day job is Shake ‘n Bake the Clown (now available for birthdays, bar mitzvahs and brisses). This was something Van HellSin would be experiencing all shiny and new as somebody diving into the pool of awesome sauce for the very first time.

As somebody not shy when it comes to getting out on stage, she said that she just wanted “to see some passion for rock and roll, people busting out their true selves on stage, folks living it up and rocking it out.”

When asked what performers would have to do to really wow her as a judge, something I admit I was churning over in my mind even moments before go time, she said that she was a sucker for a good knee drop.

“If people get acrobatic with it, start rolling around on the floor, that’s a good sell for me.”

Humm, yup, that’s pretty rock-tastic bombastic but I’m going to have to go with being shocked and awed the most by those who busted out the Cool Whip and glitter!

Let the games begin!

Thankfully there was somebody tallying up the scores because math –like French, history, science, and anything that wasn’t smokin’ in the boy’s room– wasn’t my forte in school. The crowd had been amply pumped up by the Top Gun Soundtrack. We were all ready to once again ride that highway to the danger zone. Sure, the human body may be about 60% water but tonight it was all about being 100% air. Crank it up to 11 because, in the immortal words of Dee Snider, “I wanna’ rock…ROCK!”

Right out of the gate the theme of the evening would be set. If you wanted to get noticed, you needed interesting headwear flying off your moist cranium mere seconds into a solo. Fresh from what I gathered to be a day at Comic Con, Link of Zelda fame showed both Ottawa and Hyrule that he was “Born to Be Wild”, complete with elf hat soaring into the crowd. What followed would be wailing efforts from somebody decked out like a character in the unpublished Dr. Seuss text How the Grinch Rocked Kwanza, Tom Waits, a Dollarama tablecloth, that one dude from Saigon Kick, and somebody that had a head that was violently being humped by Winnie-the-Pooh. Stuff that tubby little cubby with fluff and smoke it…or something.

But, in the end, there could be only one. While the top prize of the last two years was claimed by wonder women, 2018 would finally be the time of the Mime. Going all Gene Simmons on our asses, the Space Mime Continuum blood spat his way to victory with all of us judges agreeing that –though not managing to pull off even a single Salchow double Lutz– he had the right combo of originality, charisma, technique, artistic impression and air’ness that any cupcake makin’, Mohawk shavin’, Iron Maiden back patch wearin’ granny would be proud of.
Somewhere, up in that great gig in the sky, Marcel Marceau sheds a tear of joy, unslings his invisible axe and pumps out the power chords that could lead a fellow brother of silence up the stairway to air guitar heaven.

“…,” said an overjoyed Space Mime after the win that will take him to Toronto for the Canadian finals where he hopes to wind walk his way to Finland. When asked what the secret to his success was, he told me that he needed a lot of “……” and a little bit of “…….”.

Yup, that’ll do it.

Rock ‘em, sock ‘em and stay gold, Mimey Boy!

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