One of the best days of my life happened last summer when I went to the Air Guitar Regional Championships. Cramming into The Metro, we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, craning our necks to see men strut onto the stage with, well, nothing.
Yes, they were prepared in their costumes and choreography, and I was extremely impressed with Judge #3 and his ability to drink two bottles of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine in a matter of a minute, but what won my heart was the amount of passion that these performers radiated.
They were, after all, playing an instrument that was not there, tickling the air, clutching a phantom guitar, kicking and thrusting and spraying sweat across the stage as if they were the head-lining act.
What was their practice schedule?
How did they pick their specific piece of music?
Did they ever become frustrated and throw their imaginary guitar against the wall?
Pondering these questions, I grinned at the people around me thinking that we shared some sort of bond, a secret that the rest of the world had yet to learn – that the best live performance was actually instrumental lip-syncing. The rest of the night I wondered what song would I choose to perform that would make the crowd go wild.