The Los Angeles stop of the 2008 Cuervo Black [US Air Guitar Championships, Presented by TouchTunes landed at the Troubadour on Thursday night, and at least one industry exec was heard to have said, I cant believe the Troub is sold out and theres no instruments on stage at all.
If you squinted really hard, or were indulging in the sponsors libations, you may have thought there was actually some talent on said storied stage, but really it was a lot of ham-fisted homage to rock star wankery, and as such, it felt like the night the crazies got to take over the asylum and damn if they didnt have a great time doing it.
The judges, who made the night by being ruthlessly insulting and hilarious, included Brett McKenzie of Flight of the Conchords , and L.A.-area comic Greg Proops. After one particularly amateur attempt at air guitar, Proops rightfully described the contestants performance as looking like a meth-addled attempt to get your c*ck out of those tight pants.
And there were a lot of tight pants. It became evident that whenever a guy (there was only one female contestant) came out in a one-piece jumpsuit, it was being ripped off right about the time his song kicked into overdrive. I guess people figured a West Hollywood crowd would be in to that sort of thing. Judge McKenzie even gave out a score of, Four point too bad you wore that jumpsuit.
The low-budget fun included a guy who brought his own match for pyrotechnics.
After about 15 shameless exhibitionists with nothing left to lose (another of judge Proops zingers), the reigning Los Angeles air guitar champion, The Rock Ness Monster came out to defend his title. We soon realized that, as with any skill, when its done greatly, its obvious. The cream rose straight to the top. Rock Ness delivered a frantic performance that exuded whatever the hell it is that great air guitarists exude excellence in imitation, I guess.
During intermission, it seemed clear that The Rock Ness Monster would again prevail. During intermission, we also learned that the emcee of the event thought the talent in L.A. sucks this year, and that Brett McKenzie believed himself to be a terrible judge who was, harsh and dislikable.
I cant help it, he said, Theres an endless vodka supply at the judges booth.
The scores were tallied and five air guitarists were given the honor of moving to the next round where they were to play a song not of their own choosing.
What happened next was shocking and surprising in the way things that dont matter at all can still sorta be that way: The Rock Ness Monster choked. It was like Jordan missing a free throw in the clutch moments, or Tiger Woods missing a putt, except it was a dude who had just been on stage whipping a crowd into a froth while pretending to play a guitar who couldnt pull of his signature walking on the crowd move.
So The Houston Rocket came out, swam across the crowd and ended up in the balcony in the blink of an eye, and stole the show with his cop mustache and short shorts.
Then all the contestants, judges, and their pals came on stage for a group air guitar jam to what else Freebird. A bunch of drunken fools on the stage of an historic Los Angeles club, reveling in their fifteen minutes as they pretended to be great for some reason, maybe because of the way The Houston Rocket looked, it felt like the end of a Will Ferrell movie.
