This isn't remotely in that league of world-shaking events. But...what if one of the seminal figures in modern rock had grown up somewhere else than England?
He waited impatiently in the wings, behind the curtain as the MC worked the crowd. His fingers danced lightly over the keys of the accordion, not quite touching them, as the other band members struck poses of boredom and annoyance. It was almost time for the band to break up again. He could feel the dissatisfaction from the others like radar pulses in the half-light of the backstage, even though the dark glasses made them appear ghostly, not quite there. It didn't matter, He could tour with a drum machine and whatever session musicians happened to be in town that night. What mattered was his voice, the accordion, and his songs; the others knew that and hated him for it, but the lure of the paychecks and the groupies was too much to walk away from. For now.
The crowd was going nuts out there - there would be a riot soon if they didn't get out on stage. He wiped the sweat from his shaven skull and shook the black duster lightly. Finally he heard the cue:
"Ladies and gentlemen! The undisputed king of Tejano music! Andrew Eldritch y sus Hermanas de la Misericordia!"
The drums thundered, the guitars wailed, and his accordion blared out the opening notes to "Lucrezia Mi Refleccion" as Andrew Eldritch strode forth into his kingdom.