At least they're not Satanists (Toronto Sun, January '98)

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Date: Oct 26, 2098
Source: Toronto Sun, Sunday, January 11th, 1998, Comment Section, Page 13.
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Thanks to Joanne T. [mpath2@hotmail.com] for sending this in.

"Ever-buddddy (dooo, doo) ... Ever-buddddy (dooo, doo) Back--street's--back--c'mon!"

--The deadly mantra that's been going through my head since I took my eight-year-old son to see the Backstreet Boys.

And I can just hear Michael now, rolling his eyes and saying, "Dad, that's not the way it goes!"

Planted on chairs like guests on Oprah, facing a studio full of screaming kids and thousands more just outside the window, the Backstreet Boys held court midway through their MuchMusic Intimate & Interactive special last week.

Nick! A.J.! Kevin! Howie! um, uh ... Jordan, Danny, Sleepy ... uh ...

They'd danced, fooled around and sang, and made their way outside to acknowledge the colder fans. And now that they were taking a breather, the fans were returning the favor--girls coming up (hand-picked by Master T), desperate for official approval, demonstrating dance moves to their favorite songs from the Boys' eponymous debut and the recent platinum Backstreet's Back.

"Um, I wanna ask the guys what they'd be if they weren't Backstreet Boys," said one sweet young fan. Kevin (or was it Brian?) went on to say something about acting or performing or something.

"I think he'd be a Power Ranger," snarked somebody behind me in the old folks' section, just out of camera range.

The old folks' section. Who could have conceived of such a thing? It's no coincidence that I saw my first concert--Alice Cooper--at 13, the age at which I was considered old enough to take the bus to the other end of Winnipeg at night. Having my parents drive me around would have involved my explaining who I was seeing and probably showing them a picture of Alice. And then it would have been game over.

But parents chauffeuring their kids was the big story of Backstreetmania. There was even that special section of the SkyDome where they let the codgers sip coffee while their kids hyperventilated down on the floor.

How old is old? CITY/Much babe/entertainment specialist Tracey Melchor, 27, brought her niece to the Intimate & Interactive ("I wish I had an aunt like me when I was a kid," she said). We were in agreement that the music wasn't half-bad and, as she said, "At least none of them is a Satanist."

BACKSTREET BOYS ... They're big with both girls and boys. As we talked, I had one eye on Michael and his pal Kyle as A.J. (or was it Nick?) slapped Kyle's palm. They had deer-in-the-headlights looks on their faces from being so close to their heroes.

And that's one of the overlooked stories of Backstreet-mania--the fact that the Backstreet Boys have boy fans. They're not into it for puppy love, but for the coolness factor. They're not as demonstrative as the girls, and so are less likely to end up on camera. (Case in point: Amid the paroxysms of screaming, I only ever saw one girl actually sobbing-- she was screaming "A.J.! A.J.!" over and over as tears streamed down her cheeks. But this same girl was in every other camera shot and ended up on the front page of this paper.)

But when you hear a bunch of eight- and nine-year-old boys in your house singing, "If you want it good girl, get yourself a (beat) BAD boy!" you know they're serious fans. They don't have a clue what the words might mean, they just like the way they sound--kind of like when I was 11 and walked around singing, "I gotta do it to a duck on a two-ton truck ..." (from the Guess Who song Friends of Mine).

But everything ends--even your first concert. The Backstreet Boys slipped out the back, natch. Ambulances hauled off eight fainting girls. And Michael and Kyle exited with me, stopping only to be introduced to station boss/avatar Moses Znaimer.

"So guys, how does it feel to be at the centre of the universe?" a cheerful Moses asked, enigmatic even with kids.

Kyle shrugged his shoulders and said, "I dunno."

Me neither.

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