Air Guitar Nation: The Apex of Civilization?

This review was first published on cinekklesia on September 22, 2007.

One of my first exposures to the world of competitive air guitar came on a 2004 business trip to Atlanta. I was on my flight, thumbing through the airline's magazine, when I saw a British journalist's article regarding the most recent Air Guitar World Championships in Oulu, Finland. Aah, but the journalist was not merely reporting; he was a participant, proudly representing his country in the relatively new (but increasingly popular) art form. I was fascinated. The competition's organizers had taken what some less-innovative minds might consider a mere "joke" and turned it into a full-fledged artistic discipline. If air guitar is not a joke, if it has established itself as an art form, then could it signal the apex of civilization as we know it? Have we finally reached the pinnacle of human achievement?

Enter Alexandra Lipsitz's Air Guitar Nation (2006), which doesn't answer such profound civilizational questions, but instead provides a helpful introduction to the trailblazing community of would-be rock legends. Specifically, the documentary focuses on the first air-guitar championships in the United States, a country which inexplicably had been missing from the international stage. After all, didn't the U.S. "invent" rock 'n' roll — and, by extension, air guitar? Why had Americans, a competitive lot if there ever was one, not packed their bags for Finland? The organizers of the U.S. competition were hoping to change that.

The two air-guitar maestros that take center stage in Lipsitz's work are David Jung (stage name: C-Diddy) and Dan Crane (a.k.a., Bjorn Turoque — Born to Rock, get it?!). Their rivalry serves as the primary narrative focus of Air Guitar Nation: Jung is the relatively laid-back, happy-go-lucky artist, while Crane is the more serious competitor, determined to take back the honor that he believes Jung undeservedly won at his expense. Along the way, we meet a variety of air guitarists, competition organizers, fans, family members, etc. At the end of the movie, we not only have a good introduction to the air-guitar community, but we just might have the urge to put on a metal album and take a stab at it ourselves.

So, is air guitar the apex of civilization? In one sense, it is. We seemingly have reached the point at which people can take an activity previously relegated to the privacy of one's home—and, more specifically, the privacy of one's bedroom—and perform it publicly, formally, and with artistic merit. It is also not an activity reserved for the rich. While some art forms require one to train for years and to purchase expensive supplies just for the privilege of participating (let alone achieving recognition), air guitar simply requires a little bit of practice and a cheap tape/CD player from a discount store. Think about it. What takes more time and money: playing Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.5 or performing an air-guitar rendition of Motörhead's "Ace of Spades" (featured in the movie)?

Naysayers, of course, would counter that air guitar actually showcases the decline of civilization: the further lowering of artistic standards, the perverse outcome of our seemingly insatiable democratization of culture. The years of training that one must devote to an art form is what makes that art form great; any punk can play air guitar, but only a few can tackle a concerto. As such, we have artistic canons, we have scholars and critics who tell us why something is important, valuable, or simply good. We have standards, and high standards are what make for advanced civilizations.

The naysayers are exhibiting a narrow aesthetic preference: a work that is difficult to perform and that is classified as cultured, refined, and high-brow is worthy of "civilized" praise. There is nothing wrong with this view, since anyone can define "civilization" in any way he/she chooses. However, I argue for a broader view, one that takes into account the socioeconomic conditions that allow for air guitar to develop as its own art form. Air guitar's mere existence actually evinces a healthy civilization: one that is thriving, full of vitality, creativity, and fun. One doesn't have to be a fan of air guitar in order to appreciate its social importance.

Since I'm writing in cinekklesia, I suspect that some readers may remain skeptical. Is air guitar not a waste of time? How does it bring glory to God? (These questions would be heightened by some stereotypical rock 'n' roll behavior portrayed in the movie—as air guitarists take after "real" rock heroes?—which include a little bit of profanity, nudity, and sacrilege.) However, we could ask the same question of Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 (a piece which I love, by the way): what value does it truly have? Is it not ultimately a waste of time? If one takes a stark, all-or-nothing view of the world, believing that all of its components are fundamentally and irretrievably lost, then neither air guitar nor Beethoven concertos deserve our time and attention.

As such, I must conclude that air guitar is a sign of the apex of human civilization, as distinct from God's Kingdom. I do not find air guitar of intrinsic value, and I know that it very well could end up on the cosmic ash heap once the Eschaton arrives. Nevertheless, we should acknowledge how air guitar signals the vitality and fullness of a civilization in which ordinary people of modest means can participate meaningfully in their society's artistic life. Rock on.