Chris Barron, the charismatic frontman of the multi-platinum selling band, The Spin Doctors, is not just a singer; he’s a storyteller. Known for their infectious blend of rock, funk, and blues, The Spin Doctors burst onto the scene in the early 90s with hits like “Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong” and the undeniably catchy “Two Princes.” But have you ever wondered about the story behind the Spin Doctors Lyrics Two Princes? In this exclusive account, Chris Barron himself unveils the surprising inspiration and the almost whimsical process that led to the creation of this iconic 90s anthem.
The narrative begins in a decidedly unglamorous setting: the kitchen of an American diner in Princeton, New Jersey. A young Chris Barron, a “peon in the kitchen,” found himself in an unusual situation. Princeton, a town known for its intellectual elite, was facing a labor shortage. This meant even kitchen staff were somewhat indispensable. It was during a typical workday, amidst the clatter of dishes and sizzling grills, that the phone rang. “It’s for you,” someone announced. This was unexpected. Personal calls were rare in this workplace, making the moment all the more intriguing. Picking up the receiver, Barron was greeted by a voice that would transport him back to the turbulent landscape of high school romance. It was “her.”
To truly understand the significance of this phone call and the subsequent birth of the Spin Doctors lyrics two princes, we need to rewind a little further. There was, indeed, a girl. A significant crush that, in the rearview mirror of time, seems like a “faded photo” – a youthful infatuation tucked away in the recesses of memory. Yet, back then, it was a “pretty big deal.” Like many high school romances, it didn’t end smoothly. In fact, it ended on “pretty lousy terms.” Fuelled by teenage angst and romantic frustration, Barron had penned a less-than-complimentary yearbook message, something along the lines of accusing her of leading him on and questioning her character. Teenage heartbreak, amplified by the dramatic flair of youth.
This personal drama was, in part, a reflection of the social dynamics of Princeton high school. As Barron describes it, a “socioeconomic continuum” where “wealthy, athletic conformists got all the girls,” leaving the “cute, poetic misanthropes” like himself romantically sidelined. His frustration wasn’t solely directed at the girl herself, but at the perceived artificiality and superficiality of the social structure he felt trapped within. Experiences outside of Princeton, like a summer art program in Philadelphia and a week in Long Island, had shown him a different reality – one where he was seen as “a pretty, if not, very cool guy.” This realization fueled a recurring theme in his early songwriting: “how could you want him when you know you could have me?” This sentiment, tinged with frustration and a touch of wounded pride, was the emotional backdrop against which the seeds of “Two Princes” were sown.
So, when “she” called that day at the diner and requested to meet, Barron was understandably “bemused, confused, puzzled, mystified, bewildered, perplexed, preoccupied, baffled and lost in thought.” Was this a reconciliation? Or was it, perhaps, a delayed retaliation for the yearbook inscription? Even at nineteen, Barron was aware of the enduring nature of a woman’s grudge. The anticipation hung heavy in the air as his shift drew to a close, leading him onto the bustling streets of Nassau Street, Princeton, still lost in contemplation.
It was on Nassau Street that fate intervened in the form of Michael “Miket” Wilder. Miket, the older brother of Barron’s friend Dave (a bass prodigy who would later achieve musical success), was a figure of immense cool and influence in their circle. Whatever Miket said or did was gospel. Running into him at this pivotal moment felt like a stroke of luck. Who better to offer sage advice on navigating this romantic quandary with effortless cool?
After the customary greetings and “skin,” Barron laid out his predicament. “Miket,” he began, “this girl I like called me at work.” Miket, with characteristic nonchalance, slapped him five. “Well, go ahead with that, my brother,” he encouraged. Barron, still wrestling with uncertainty, pressed further. “Yeah, but I think she may be mad at me.” Miket’s response was unwavering: “Well, you gotta go ahead with it.” Doubt lingered. “You think so?” Barron questioned, “I mean, I’ve liked her for a long time and maybe she’s into me too.” Miket’s advice remained steadfast and concise: “Just go ahead now.” Seeking final confirmation, Barron asked, “I should just go see what’s up, right?” And Miket, with the same unwavering conviction, simply repeated, “Just go ahead now.”
And just like that, armed with Miket’s simple yet profound advice, Barron went on his way. He returned to his apartment above Farington’s Music, picked up his guitar, and strummed a G chord. Inspiration struck. He grabbed a yellow legal pad and a Shafer fountain pen and wrote the now-iconic line: “One, two princes kneel before you.” Initially, he thought it was “corny.” But then, Miket’s words echoed in his mind: “just go ahead now.” And with that, the lyrics, and ultimately the song “Two Princes,” began to flow. The simple encouragement to “just go ahead” became the unlikely catalyst for a song that would resonate with millions, proving that sometimes, the most profound creative breakthroughs can stem from the most unassuming advice.
