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When I was just 10, I read about a article in my community gazette about the Global Air Guitar Contest, held annually every year in my native city of Oulu, Finland. My parents had volunteered at the very first contest back in 1996 – my mum handed out flyers, dad sorted the music. Ever since, national championships have been staged globally, with the winners converging in Oulu each August.

At the time, I inquired with my family if I could compete. Initially they had doubts; the show was in a bar, and there would be a lot of adults. They felt it might be an daunting atmosphere, but I was resolved.

In my youth, I was always “playing” air guitar, acting out to the iconic rock tunes with my imaginary instrument. Mom and Dad were enthusiasts – my dad loved The Boss and the Irish rock band. AC/DC was the original act I discovered on my own. the guitarist, the guitar hero, was my idol.

Upon entering the spotlight, I performed my act to the band's Whole Lotta Rosie. The crowd started shouting “Angus”, just like the live recording, and it struck me: so this is to be a music icon. I reached the championship, competing to crowds in the town square, and I was addicted. I earned the moniker “Little Angus” that day.

Later I paused. I was a referee one year, and opened for the show once more, but I didn’t compete. I came back at 18, tested out several stage names, but fans continued using “Little Angus” so I accepted it fully and adopt “The Angus” as my artist name. I’ve qualified for the last round annually from 2022 onward, and in 2023 I was the runner-up, so I was determined to claim victory this year.

The air guitar community is like a support system. Our motto is ‘Create music, not conflict’. It sounds silly, but it’s a true ethos.

The event is competitive but uplifting. Participants have one minute to give everything – explosive energy, precise mimicry, rock star charisma – on an imaginary instrument. The panel rate you on a point range from four to six. In the case of a tie, there’s an “air-off” between the final two contestants: a song plays and you create on the spot.

Preparation is everything. I selected an the band Avenged Sevenfold song for my performance. I played it repeatedly for weeks. I did regular stretches, trying to get my legs prepared enough to leap, my fingers quick enough to copy riffs and my spine ready for those gestures and hops. Once the event came, I could internalize the track in my soul.

After everyone had performed, the points were announced, and I had matched with the winner from Japan, the Japanese titleholder – it was moment for an final showdown. We faced off to the Guns N’ Roses hit by the rock group. Once the track began, I felt at ease because it was one that I knew, and primarily I was so thrilled to have another go. As they declared I’d won, the square exploded.

It's all a bit fuzzy. I think I blacked out from shock. Then the crowd started performing the classic tune that well-known track and hoisted me on to their backs. A former champion – AKA Nordic Thunder – a previous titleholder and one of my dear companions, was hugging me. I shed tears. I was the inaugural from Finland air guitar world champion in two and a half decades. The earlier winner from Finland, the earlier victor, was also present. He offered me the biggest hug and said it was “about damn time”.

The air guitar community is like a family. Our motto is “Create music, not conflict”. It sounds silly, but it’s a genuine belief. People come from many countries, and everyone is positive and uplifting. Before you go on stage, all participants comes and hugs you. Then for 60 seconds you’re free to be yourself, humorous, the top performer in the world.

I’m also a percussionist and string player in a band with my sibling called the band name, inspired by Gareth Southgate, as we’re fans of UK rock and post-punk. I’ve been serving drinks for a short time, and I direct mini movies and song visuals. The victory hasn’t changed my day-to-day life too much but I’ve been doing a extensive media, and I wish it results in more artistic projects. My hometown will be a European capital of culture next year, so there are promising opportunities.

At present, I’m just grateful: for the community, for the ability to compete, and for that little kid who picked up a newspaper and thought, “That's for me.”