Backstreet Boys aka Men suffer an Identity Crisis
Source: Mercury News
Click here for Photos from the Oakland concert from sfgate.com
BY CANDACE MURPHY
Mercury News
There is a fundamental problem with the Backstreet Boys. They are no longer boys. They are men.
Gone are the dances with folding chairs, replaced instead by prances across an elevated catwalk. Gone is Nick Carter's floppy hair, replaced instead by a George Clooney cut. Gone is Kevin Richardson's gelled, spiked locks, replaced instead by another Clooney 'do. Rosemary Clooney, that is. And perhaps most important, gone is the innocence of youth, replaced, at least for Brian Littrell and Richardson, by a pair of platinum wedding bands.
The aging process, of course, is inevitable. Heaven knows, countless rockers refuse to give up the ghost and keep performing long after anyone even expected them to live. But the Backstreet Boys' show on Thursday at the Oakland Arena, the first of two sold-out gigs, afforded a look at what the aging process does to a boy group.
Like a teenager whose voice is changing, it had its ups and downs.
But wait. Before all you Kevin, A.J., Howie D., Nick and Brian fans freak out, run to your computers and fire off some vituperative e-mail, stop. You must chill. This is not a rip job of the Backstreet Boys. This is a contemplative essay concerning age -- Kevin, the oldest Backstreeter is listed as being 29 -- and musical acts.
Is the sight of five grown men wearing full-length white leather trench coats, white leather pants and walking as if they were puttin' on the Ritz with those strange, glittering scepters grabbed as props appropriate? Or is such stringent adherence to uniform and synchronized moves at such an age more suited for those serving their country on the weekend in the Army reserve? Is a 10-minute video of the Backstreet Boys shooting Silly String, firing water guns and throwing stuffed animals during a supposed costume change appropriate? Or should such histrionics be reserved for Nick Carter's younger brother and solo act, Aaron
These are questions that haven't been answered, yet, but perhaps should be. Because the Backstreet Boys have much to offer. They have, believe it or not (and you may not be a believer given the horrible, shoddy sound system at the Oakland Arena), good voices, as they demonstrated with ``Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely.'' They have begun writing several of their own songs, which are actually sensitive and emotionally mature, such as the striking ``The Answer to Our Life,'' from the new album, ``Black and Blue.''
But the tug of war between the Boys' disposed-of teen years -- the youngest Backstreeter is Nick, at 21 -- and their encroachment on their 30s has the Backstreet Boys struggling with their identity. Should they embark on a Ponce de Leon trip to sip from the Fountain of Youth so as to compete with the other boy bands that crop up like crab grass? Or should they face facts, resign themselves to the fact that even Mick Jagger eventually got crows feet, and be comfortable in their own skin?
Until these questions are answered, the Backstreet Boys' performances will suffer a sort of split personality not seen since the New Kids on the Block approached their 10th year performing together in 1984.
The true Backstreet Boy fan, though, wasn't so analytical Thursday. When the Boys made their entrance to 10 explosions followed by the igniting of 10 large plumes of fire, the crowd of many young women emitted a screech which undoubtedly swiveled the head of many a Bay Area canine. Even former San Francisco 49er tight end Brent Jones, at the show to escort his daughters and their friends and who had previously been seen to be nodding off, bolted to attention.
The songs, most of them hits, and if they weren't, undoubtedly soon to be as such, came fast and furious. ``Larger Than Life.'' ``Shining Star.'' ``I Want It That Way.'' ``More Than That.'' The uncharacteristically cynical ``Not For Me.'' In all, it was a solid show, 100 minutes of song, dance and just plain old entertainment.
And whether these Backstreeters were boys or men, there was something for everyone, from the grown woman wearing a homemade shirt proclaiming her lust for Brian to her teenage companion, who wore a shirt reading ``Nick I'm Lost, Will You Take Me Home?''
Ah, kids. They do the darndest things.
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Contact Candace Murphy at [email protected] or (408) 920-5046. Fax (408) 271-3786.
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