Air Guitar @ Brooklyn Bowl

On April 9th, a crowd of Brooklynites gathered to watch the gods of the most elusive instrument of all -the air guitar- perform. Around 9:45pm (after soundcheck and tuning) superstars of the string ghost put on a show that will forever remain embedded in my memory. Skillfully maneuvering through complex routines these Olympians of sounds not heard hung up their cloaks of inhibition and let loose in front of a crowd eager to be entertained, so eager in fact they neglected to ask a few pertinent questions:

Is this for real? Yes it is!!

Wait, really? Yeah definitely!

Are they seriously judged on an Olympic scale? Yeah! Why wouldn’t they?

Is there really a measurable skill? Yeah: quantitative ridiculousness!



The first performer was quite possibly the closest thing to a carne y hueso version of Meg Griffin I’ve ever laid eyes on. Daily Show correspondent and celebrity judge Jason Jones was in top form as the dick du jour, waging verbal jihad on every performer and audience member within reach. A few others performed not really worth mentioning, except perhaps for the monikers they chose to perform under: Lika Chik, who incorporated stripping into her routine; Martica, a roboto lanky girl who moved so androidially she might have been an Intel prototype; Mad Romancer, in skinny pink jeans, played his guitar to shreds to Metallica; Fresh Prince of Hell-Air was the only non-Caucasian; The Reverend Mikey-O, an old battered ethereal rocker, proving the lifestyle does take its toll.

But the best, most talented, prodigy of the non-instrument was the winner Ricky Stinkfingers who rocked to Carrie Underwood and Lindsey Lohan. He put a smile on every audience member by embracing the ridiculous and making it an art form. The entire thing was over the top. It was a cringe and laughter cocktail. A display of shamelessness and aloofness to societal norms I wholeheartedly envied.

-Metagrime

Photography by Joshua Corkhum