oby Duron was robbed, dammit.

At the 2005 Guitarmageddon Finals in Los Angeles, the 33-year-old musician competed against seven other unknown axmen — whittled down from thousands across the country — in one last slay-off for nimble-fingered superiority. The prize: a car, a 1959 Les Paul reissue, a $2,500 shopping spree at Guitar Center, and the honor of standing victoriously inside the 2,300-seat Wiltern Theater. While the other finalists mostly just planted themselves in front of a monitor, Duron worked the stage, stomping from one side to the other and throwing winks at the females in the audience as he burned through an exhibition of the fiery blues rock he’s been honing at dives across Ventura County for years now. Even the writers for six-string bible Guitar World took notice. In the end, however, his victory was only a moral one: He lost to a guy who put his guitar across his lap and played it like a piano.

Still, the experience gave Duron a taste of what he’s been craving since he was a pre-pubescent teenager staring at pictures of Gene Simmons spitting blood out of his mouth: fame. “What I need is a big stage like that,” he says from his home in Van Nuys.

For now, though, Duron is going to have to settle for a cramped corner at Champ’s, a small sports bar in Oxnard where his group, the aptly titled Roby Duron Band, performs every Sunday night. Previously, the trio were regulars at Sans Souci in Ventura. Before then, they gigged frequently at the Ojai Deer Lodge. Yes, as his history makes clear, Duron and the rotating cast of bassists and drummers he plays with are a “bar band.” It’s a label that can be taken several ways: literally — as in, a band that mainly plays at bars; pejoratively — as in, a band that’s only good enough to do classic rock covers for drunk people; or categorically — as in, a band that plays chugging, blues-based, jam-heavy rock ’n’ roll. Duron falls somewhere between the first and third options. His repertoire consists of the obligatory material bar owners expect to hear when they hire someone to entertain their patrons, but Duron is far too skilled to merely mimic other artists; as he puts it, he gives “old songs new blood.” Besides, he also writes songs of his own, which he sneaks into sets from time to time. And although he’s aiming for something larger, Duron isn’t bothered by the “bar band” tag, whatever its connotation. After all, he says, “The Rolling Stones are a bar band.”

Duron, whose father was a keyboardist, first picked up the guitar at age 13 during a time when AC/DC, Iron Maiden and, of course, KISS were the idols of every aspiring adolescent rock star. As propulsive hard rock gave way to the soulless proficiency of wankers like Yngwie Malmsteen, Duron discovered the leaner virtuosity of Stevie Ray Vaughn, which led him to the blues. At 21, he dropped out of junior college to cut his teeth on the road with a cover band, playing five sets a night, six nights a week. He lived for extended periods in Florida, Wyoming and Seattle, developing his chops with different groups, before eventually coming back to Southern California in hopes of infiltrating the L.A. music scene.

As it turned out, Duron wound up making a slight name for himself south of Hollywood. After jamming with him at a show in Santa Clarita, local singer Eddie Clark invited Duron to sit in with him at Sans Souci. Eventually, Clark quit, allowing Duron to take over vocal duties and reshape the group in his image. A weekly gig at the bar followed, as did a spot opening for famed guitarist Johnny Winter directly across the street at the Ventura Theatre. Next to Guitarmaggedon, it was Duron’s biggest concert to date, and not just because he was sharing the bill with a legend — it gave him the chance to reunite his father and Winter, who played together in their youth while growing up in Texas.

Today, Duron is putting the finishing touches on a demo of all original material, which he hopes will help him finally penetrate Los Angeles and get more work outside the bar circuit. But Duron isn’t complaining about his current position. He may not be living the full dream yet, but he’s already conquered a major part of it: not having to get a real job.

“I don’t do anything else but music,” says Duron, who earns enough money through playing, giving lessons and doing some engineering in the studio to keep his own hours. “My neighbor told me the same thing. He said, ‘You’re successful. I have to go work for somebody today, and you get to stay home.’ ”