COLUMN: I wanna be in a Boy Band
In light of recent years and the real push for teen-driven pop music (Dirty Pop that is) I have decided I really want to be part of the whole movement. And who wouldn’t? Think about it – sleeping until noon, screaming girls and money, money, money.
I have watched with awe as the entire movement has taken hold of our society by the throat and refused to let go. With bands like N’Sync, the Backstreet Boys and the Partridge Family-esque O Town there is still plenty of room for one more.
I have long desired to stand on a stage and gyrate to pre-fabed music and wear one of those cute little “Madonna” microphones. I mean, picture me, standing with either leather pants or baggy Tommy jeans, a skin-tight sleeveless shirt (that is so sinful) and a dog collar. Other silver flashes from my ears and fingers. Tattoos adorn my arms and shoulders and I am the bad boy of the newest teen rage. If only dreams could come true.
A couple of weekends ago, I found myself glued to the television watching MTV and the Making of the Band. As I watched the guys of the now famous O Town, I was thinking to myself, why couldn’t I be them? I saw the nasty break-ups with the girlfriend (he was only 18 and had a serious girlfriend of 21 who was sure they were going to get married), the fight with the parentals and the stress among the band themselves. I watched as one guy quit and they had to find a new one and I was like, “Call ME. Call ME.” My phone never rang. The irony of it all.
So if I were to start my own boy band, what would I call it? Several names have flashed through my head, but in the end I go back to a group I was part of this summer – B band. Yep. That was our name. You can’t beat that. I mean, it could stand for so many things. Bad A Band, Busted Band or maybe even Bull … Well, you can probably guess what I was thinking, but in reality, it simply meant (are you ready for this?) Boy Band. Clever don’t you think.
I mean, if O Town can call themselves that after the city in which they were formed, then I see no reason I can’t go for the genre of the music that inspired me to live, breathe and simply exist.
Now, I would have to put a limit on the whole matching clothing thing. I just don’t want to be dressed in some futuristic space-inspired crap with exposed knee pads and large zippers. I prefer the un-matching, individual look that would set us apart as different members of the band.
I suppose in contrast to my bad boy image, we would need the young, innocent guy. Then we would add the woman killer, the serious musician who just cares about the music and then the lovable doof. That would make us the perfect boy band. Who could resist such a combination of people and sounds.
I often lay awake at night and wonder what my life would be like on the road. Can you imagine living on the big, glorified tour bus, having a private jet and people who run around all day making sure I am happy and have enough bottled water on hand at all times to drown Cache Valley. Pure bliss.
If that is not enough, I always end up dwelling about the pre-pubescent, screaming girls and their devotion. The pure joy of seeing a 2-year-old, sorry I meant 12-year-old girl fainting as we walk on stage is almost more than I can handle. Not that I am into young girls or anything, but hell, a fan is a fan. And as they say in Empire Records, “There are a lot of fans in there. No gig is too small.”
So I say, give me the microphone and the huge earrings. Teach us the somewhat-tight harmonies and the sex-inspired choreography. Mothers, hide your daughters and prepare for the new revolution in pop music, because B Band is here to stay.
Justin Berry is the Features
Editor of The Utah Statesman.
Comments can be sent to features@statesman.usu.edu