Abdicate. It’s a word that is seldom pressed into service. Like sprocket or unitard, it’s one of those terms that rarely intrudes on polite conversation. But all that changed when news broke that King Juan Carlos of Spain was going to vacate the throne. As soon as the breaking news flashed on the screen, I immediately fetched my ‘In Case of Zombie Apocalypse’ backpack and headed straight for the cellar. Which, given that I live in a first floor apartment, came as something of a shock for the downstairs neighbours. Reacting as though an invasion of the undead had just been announced may seem a touch over the top to some, but it’s not every day that someone decides to throw caution to the wind and abdicate. Besides, I’ve seen several episodes of Game of Thrones and know for a fact that these things can get very messy, very quickly.
Abdicate. It’s a word that is seldom pressed into service. Like sprocket or unitard, it’s one of those terms that rarely intrudes on polite conversation. But all that changed when news broke that King Juan Carlos of Spain was going to vacate the throne. As soon as the breaking news flashed on the screen, I immediately fetched my ‘In Case of Zombie Apocalypse’ backpack and headed straight for the cellar. Which, given that I live in a first floor apartment, came as something of a shock for the downstairs neighbours. Reacting as though an invasion of the undead had just been announced may seem a touch over the top to some, but it’s not every day that someone decides to throw caution to the wind and abdicate. Besides, I’ve seen several episodes of Game of Thrones and know for a fact that these things can get very messy, very quickly.
This was no ordinary, run of the mill abdication, either. According to the ‘breaking news’ announcement that ran across the bottom of the television screen as I searched my backpack for a flare gun, King Juan Carlos was not stepping aside on a mere whim or flight of fancy. He was abdicating, so claimed the television, ‘for Prince’. This seemed even more astounding. Don’t get me wrong – I have several of his albums and even watched a good two thirds of ‘Under the Cherry Moon’ (if, indeed, there is a good two thirds to be had), but it doesn’t mean I’d give him my job. And although, outwardly, it may seem a little odd if not downright hasty to step aside in favour of a five-foot tall musician and undisputed guitar playing genius, it seems oddly inevitable that this day would come.
Prince Rogers Nelson is no ordinary pop flounce. He’s a bona fide musical icon and virtuoso who would, doubtless, make a wonderful monarch. Lucky Spain, I say. Although abdication can be something of a shock, you can rest assured that Prince is ready. In fact, it’s as though he’s been waiting for this moment for ages. For decades, Prince has dressed as though he was about to ascend to the throne of something. The crushed velvet suits that were one part Austin Powers and two parts the Scarlet Pimpernel in ‘Sir Percy Blakeney’ mode. The frilliest of frilly shirts. The elaborate footwear, to say nothing of his enduring fondness for that most regal of colours: purple. Don’t be fooled: Prince is ready.
That said, he is something of a misunderstood genius. There was that period of time during the nineties when he had a contractual dispute with his record label and changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol. Which must have made getting a dinner reservation an absolute nightmare. Imagine: our small purple hero rings his favourite restaurant to book a table only to have the maitre de ask ‘under what name’? It would have been the least of his troubles. He would no longer have been able to label his youghurts ‘Property of Prince – Do Not Eat’ when he put them in the band fridge. It must have driven him crazy to reach for a tub of low fat mixed berry only to find that the rhythm section had scoffed them earlier in the week.
Most people wrongly thought he was crazy. It’s true that he probably acted a little strange, but maybe he was just hankering for a night out at a decent restaurant and for people to stop stealing his play lunch. It was during this time that he was christened by a world that cared little for unpronounceable symbols, ‘The Artist Formerly Known as Prince’. Then, after a time, he changed his name back again. Which, technically speaking, made him ‘The Artist Formerly Known as the Artist Formerly Known as Prince.’ All that is behind him now.
I can’t recall the last such major abdication. I know that King Edward VIII chucked it in to take up with Wallis Simpson. To the best of my knowledge, old Wallis couldn’t carry a tune in bucket and it was little wonder he had to quit. He left it to his brother to take over. More’s the pity. The world might have been a different place had he stood aside to let Vera Lynn snatch the reins of power. Or, if a regal name was a pre-requisite, perhaps Duke Ellington.
Maybe King Juan Carlos is setting a trend. One in which monarchs bow out in favour of musical royalty. I’d love to see King Phillippe of Belgium step aside and for the Kings of Leon. It’s high time that Queen Margrethe of Denmark took the hint and let Queens of the Stone Age have a preverbial red hot go. Imagine a world where those becoming Australian citizens pledged allegiance to Queen rather than ‘the Queen’ and the whole thing ended with a communal rendition of ‘We Will Rock You’? Rock stars – your moment is now. And it all starts with Spain.
I can just imagine the coronation. The pomp. The ceremony. The blistering thirty minute guitar solo that will keep a nation of Spaniards absolutely entranced. Granted, not everyone will love it. But Prince is no stranger to controversy, having released an album of that name as far back as 1981. I, for one, want to wish Prince, the new King of Spain the very best. Long may he purple rain over us.