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Back when I was 10, I discovered a feature in my community gazette about the Global Air Guitar Contest, which take place every year in my native city of Oulu, Finland. My family had helped out at the very first contest back in 1996 – my mother distributed flyers, dad sorted the music. Since then, national championships have been organized all across the world, with the winners converging in Oulu annually.

Back then, I asked my parents if I could enter. Initially they had doubts; the event was in a bar, and there would be a lot of adults. They felt it might be an intimidating atmosphere, but I was set on it.

As a kid, I was always performing air guitar, acting out to the most popular rock tunes with my make-believe instrument. My parents were music fans – my dad loved The Boss and U2. AC/DC was the initial group I stumbled upon myself. the lead guitarist, the lead guitarist, was my hero.

As I took the stage, I did my routine to the band's the song Whole Lotta Rosie. The audience started shouting “Angus”, reminiscent of the album track, and it struck me: this must be to be a rock star. I made it to the finals, performing to crowds in the town square, and I was hooked. I got the nickname “Little Angus” that day.

Then I took a break. I was a referee one year, and opened for the show on another occasion, but I didn’t compete. I came back at 18, tested out several stage names, but people kept calling me “Little Angus” so I accepted it fully and choose “The Angus” as my performance alias. I’ve made it to the final every year since 2022, and in 2023 I placed second, so I was resolved to win this year.

The air guitar community is like a support system. Our motto is ‘Play air guitar, avoid battles’. It may seem funny, but it’s a real philosophy.

The competition itself is competitive but uplifting. Participants have one minute to give everything – dynamic presence, perfect mime, rock star charisma – on an nonexistent axe. Adjudicators score you on a grading system from four to six. In the case of a tie, there’s an “showdown” between the remaining participants: a tune begins and you improvise.

Preparation is everything. I chose an a metal group song for my performance. I listened to it on a loop for weeks. I stretched constantly, trying to get my limbs prepared enough to jump, my hands nimble enough to imitate guitar parts and my spine prepared for those bends and jumps. Once the event dawned, I could sense the music in my being.

After everyone had performed, the scores came in, and I had tied with the Japanese champion, Yuta “Sudo-chan” Sudo – it was time for an final showdown. We faced off to that classic rock anthem by the iconic band. When I heard the song, I felt comforted because it was a tune I recognized, and primarily I was so eager to have another go. As they declared I’d emerged victorious, the square erupted.

The moment is hazy. I think I zoned out from shock. Then everyone started chanting the song that well-known track and hoisted me on to their arms. Justin Howard – alias his stage name – a past winner and one of my closest friends, was hugging me. I wept. I was the inaugural from Finland air guitar global winner in a quarter-century. The prior titleholder, the earlier victor, was there, too. He bestowed upon me the most heartfelt squeeze and said it was “about damn time”.

This worldwide group is like a close-knit group. Our motto is “Make air, not war”. It may seem humorous, but it’s a genuine belief. People come from globally, and all involved is helpful and motivating. Before you go on stage, each contestant comes and hugs you. Then for 60 seconds you’re free to be yourself, playful, the top performer in the world.

Besides that, I'm a beat keeper and musician in a band with my brother called the band name, inspired by the sports figure, as we’re fans of Britpop and new wave. I’ve been working in bars for a couple of years, and I direct independent videos and performance clips. The title hasn’t altered my routine drastically but I’ve been doing a lot of press, and I hope it results in more creative work. The city will be a cultural hub soon, so there are great prospects.

Currently, I’m just grateful: for the community, for the opportunity to play, and for that young child who picked up a newspaper and thought, “That's for me.”