Here are some facts about Barry Moore: he is 24, lives in Hamilton East, New Zealand, has a snake-hipped frame, and is a total legend, famous for 15 minutes every quarter-of-an-hour in his chosen field. A god, almost, a champion, officially. Recently, he headed for Detroit, to represent New Zealand¹ Now back at work in Hamilton East, the shy rocker and three-time national champion is seeking professional engagements for his curious art- Moore won the national title for the third year running on a turbulent Petone night just before Christmas - in the 2000 Air Guitar World Cup. "I'm gonna rock for New Zealand!" he hollers.

Air guitar - you won't find it in any dictionary of musical terms, but it's an art, possibly, and it's widely practised, definitely. An air guitarist is that guy you see at parties. He's on the dance floor, and there's some hard rock playing on the stereo, and he's pretending to fire off all those hot riffs and blistering solos. He's out of it. Also, he's into it: "No one can stop me," says Moore, "when I'm in the mood."

Fair warning. But how the hell did this ever become an internationally recognised event? Mime is bad enough, but air guitaring? Absurd, preposterous - well, until Moore digs out his invitation to Detroit. The trip is all expenses paid, the travel, the accommodation (Holiday Inn), the meals. There are 40 finalists, from Germany, Egypt, Australia, even Burkina Faso. ("Never underestimate the Africans," Moore advises.) First prize, $US35,000.

In that case, pray continue. "I first got into air guitar properly at the Gunners gig in 91," he begins. Moore means the Guns N'Roses concert in Auckland. He only had eyes for lead guitarist Slash. "His moves - awesome, man. Legs apart. The windmill arm action. The positioning of his axe." Moore played along to Slash for the entire show. "I was always a few seconds behind him, obviously, but all my mates who were there with me were just blown away at my performance."

He also attracted the attention of a visitor from the Hawke's Bay. "This guy from Napier comes up to me, and says, 'You've got what it takes.' And then he told me about the wonderful world," Moore smiles, ducking his head a little, "of competitive air guitar." And soon he was on the road in his Triumph, attending air guitar battles in Napier, Tauranga, Wellington, Whangarei, Blenheim, Christchurch, and once in Invercargill: "Once was enough! They're all into air speed metal down there. No finesse."

Moore's own repertoire grew as he improved. He mastered Slash, then Dinosaur jnr, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Straitjacket Fits. "And then I discovered old school." He means the 1970s, the high tide of rock guitar, when behemoths such as Peter Frampton and Eddie Van Halen strode the Earth. In 1997, in Upper Hutt, he won his first national title with his airing of Van Halen's You Really Got Me. His two victory performances since then were Voodoo Chile by Jimi Hendrix, and Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin, in which Moore faithfully sawed his air guitar with a violin bow, and even played notes backwards.

Remarkable. He is the subject of intense adoration in fanzines and on Internet sites; the audience in Petone last month was so uplifted they wrecked the stage; copies of his exhibition video NZ On Air are studied in the US, and he is "big in Japan". Still, it's unlikely that the guy will ever make an air record, and real musicians sneer at him.

"A good air guitarist is better than a bad real guitarist," he claims. "In Rotorua a few months ago, I played at a private party, right, and everyone was pretty loose, so I thought I'd try out something I'd been working on at home - I put on the Eagles' Hotel California, but when it got to the solo, I turned the stereo off, and kept playing. Right? No music, just me on air. No one knew what to think for a few seconds, but then someone says, 'I can hear him playing!' And then everyone got into it. They could see by looking at the expressions on my face, and the way my hands moved, that I was doing a note-perfect solo. One guy even yelled out, 'Turn it down!' That was a fantastic night, man."

He's planning to pull the same stunt in Detroit. There are four heats before judges decide on quarter-final places; Moore's other pieces are likely to include the full 17-minute version of Do You Feel Like I Do by Peter Frampton, Ted Nugent's Wang Dang Sweet Poontang, and, as a patriotic gesture, the [NZ TV show] Country Calendar theme tune. "I'm worried about what cowboy hat to wear," he frets.

The interview took place in his bedroom, Moore's HQ during all the years he has perfected his curious ability. "People might think, 'He should get out of the house more!' It's hard to gain respect sometimes for what I do. " But he works as a data processor, lives with his girlfriend Maxine, and voted Labour in the election. "Boring, really. But I'm happy."

But then this pleasant, ordinary New Zealander accepts a request to play some air guitar, and he turns on an old favourite, November Rain by Guns N'Roses, and suddenly Barry Moore is Slash, his legs open, eyes closed, mouth twisted into painful, ecstatic grimaces, as he smashes out huge power chords that ring like really loud bells, and chases the screeching guitar solo to the ends of the Earth, And you watch, astonished, and notice that he has such beautiful hands.