Town Lake Tatler
Austin, TX - Riverside
Watching live music is to entrance oneself in the craft of well trained experts. A note-steady drummer, a pitch-perfect singer, a guitarist sliding up the neck nailing every chord along the way. The scarcity of supremely talented musicians makes each experience fulfilling and unique. Behind the performance— hours of honing the craft.
And what of the musicians who are not musicians at all? Who spend no time looking at scales or sheet music and instead spend that time swiping at air in polyester costumes. For those, we have air guitar. Specifically the annual Austin air guitar regional competition at the Jackalope on Riverside.
For one night a year, this astroturf lined, picnic table-laden, three-headed hydra of a bar is home to a group of misfits bonded together through “airness.” One competitor is dressed as a raven, another a wizard, a man doing mime stuff to a Lady Gaga song is dressed as, what can only be described as, Bar Mitzvah DJ core.
The Jackalope is the only appropriate setting for this hobby. Here, you can paint the arcade room with vomit and still be invited back to cover an air guitar competition for a blog.
Underscoring this year's competition: traumatic events of years past. Sarahmore, a staple of the Austin air guitar scene, took the stage last year, no guitar in hand, and leapt from a towering height of nearly two feet down to the carpeted grass below. Her knee buckled, clicked and then snapped under the weight of this epic competition. She’s back this year, with a surgically repaired knee, to judge and to serve as a warning for all competitors.
But Sarahmore’s warning falls on deaf knees. As some cosmic force grabs at each air guitarist. Urging them to dismount the stage and perform some acrobatic trick with no preparation or ability to do so. As if the stage dive was written into the entry form right next to the release of liability. Every time a competitor leaves the ground a whole bar winces in dread.
Just before the evening reaches its epic conclusion, I take the stage with the half time show band.
During my imaginary bass solo our rhythm guitarist jumps from the stage, clicks her heels and attempts an impromptu backflip which ends with her skidding face first across the floor, bloodying her face in the process. Improbably, she doesn’t miss a single note.
The judges thin the field, setting up a grudge match between Strumbledore and Cutie Patootie. The former is a mainstay of the scene. To get to nationals is to go through Strumbledore.
Patootie rocks the crowd with his first run. Forcing Strumbledore to bear it all. Stripping down from his signature wizard robe all the way to a pair of low coverage denim undies. With nothing but a painted grey beard and skimpy briefs he gyrates his way into an “air off.” A sudden death competition where only one can emerge.
With the crowd firmly on his side, Patootie’s final routine is a mirage of tongue lashing and arm swinging punctuated by the night's highest stage dive. Sarahmore nearly faints. And though his routine lacked anything even remotely resembling guitar, he is moving on to nationals. Some may call this the winner, but shirtless, soaked in Lone Star and splattered with ketchup he cuts a defeated picture.