I’ll never know for sure how the fans found out exactly where we were recording, although my assumption is that at least one person had recognized us as we walked to or from the pizza place and posted about it online. What I do know is that, the next day, we found a small group of fans waiting for us in front of the studio when we arrived. Some of them gave us gifts, including a touristy Union Jack top hat that the five of us would take turns wearing in the studio for the rest of the trip. In return, we took a few photos and signed autographs for them.
Word must have gotten around fast because, by the fifth day, the size of the group had doubled. It would continue to grow over the next couple of weeks as more and more fans came to catch a glimpse of us on our way in and out of the studio.
“Kevin! Hi, Kevin!” They repeatedly called my name, reaching out to me as I rolled past them. “Kevin, will you please take a photo with me?”
“Y’all stay back now,” Q warned them as he escorted us to the door. “Keep the path clear! Don’t push!” He stayed especially close to me while making sure the fans kept their distance. I think he could tell that I wasn’t completely comfortable interacting with crowds yet.
“Hey, guys,” I replied, trying to be polite and concentrate on pushing my wheelchair at the same time. It wasn’t easy – my right arm was still sore from my fall, and I felt claustrophobic with walls of people closing in on me from both sides. To me in my chair, they all seemed so tall. I couldn’t see over any of their heads, so it was like going through a long, narrow tunnel. “Sorry, can’t stop to talk or take pictures today. We’ve got a meeting to get to.”
I wasn’t lying. We were meeting with our management team back in L.A. at noon to share what we’d accomplished during our first week in London. After getting settled inside the studio, we gathered around the wooden table in the meeting room with fresh cups of coffee. Our producer, Martin, placed the phone in the middle of the table, ready for the conference call.
Once we had our manager, Jenn, on the line, we began the meeting by playing demos of some of the songs we had been working on. “Ooh, AJ, this sounds so good!” she gushed when she heard “Try.” “Those vocals!”
AJ grinned. “Thanks!”
“I know we said we were gonna have a better balance between the five voices on this album, but we all agreed this is AJ’s song,” said Howie. “None of us can outdo what he did on those verses.”
The whole team loved the clip of “Madeleine,” which we had started recording the previous day. “This is gorgeous, guys! I can’t wait to hear the whole thing,” Jenn said eagerly after listening to the chorus.
“We’re going to work on Nick’s verse this afternoon,” Martin promised her. “We should have a full demo done by the end of the week.”
After we finished sharing, the conversation turned to how we were going to begin promoting the album. “I know we’re a long way off from a release date, but right now, our main goal is just to make sure the whole world knows the Backstreet Boys are back together and working on a new album,” Jenn explained. “We want to generate excitement and build a sense of anticipation for what is sure to be the best Backstreet album yet.”
“We’ve got some great opportunities lined up for you guys,” added our assistant manager, Melissa. “Old Navy wants to hire you for their fall marketing campaign to help promote their latest line of Rockstar skinny jeans.”
“Would we have to model the jeans ourselves?” I asked, looking doubtfully around the table. “‘Cause I dunno about y’all, but I don’t envy the person who has to help me put on a pair of skinny jeans.”
“I’m sure they can provide clothing options that work for you. Their slogan is ‘Skinny jeans for every body,” and they want to use the song ‘Everybody’ in the commercial.”
“That’s pretty clever,” Howie said, smiling. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.
“They’ve invited you to play at Bryant Park during New York Fashion Week in September so they can film part of your performance for the commercial,” Melissa continued.
“So that’s all we’d have to do?” Brian asked. “We wouldn’t have to act in it or anything?”
“That’s all. No acting required.”
“Nineties nostalgia is big right now,” Jenn added. “Old Navy’s marketing team knows that and is trying to capitalize on it, and we should be, too. This would be a great way to get both your music and your faces back out there.”
Nick nodded. “I’d be down with that. What do you guys think?”
Skinny jeans aside, I had reservations about appearing in a commercial for a company that had used Mr. T to promote its T-shirts earlier in the year. It felt too gimmicky to me. I didn’t want the world to see the Backstreet Boys as washed-up pop stars who had resorted to doing commercials for low-end clothing stores to pay their bills. But the rest of the group were on board with being in the commercial, so I reluctantly went along with it, too.
“We’ve also arranged for you to do a live performance on Good Morning America at the end of August as part of their summer concert series, Party in the Park,” Melissa went on once we’d agreed to do the Old Navy gig.
“That sounds good,” AJ said, glancing around the table as the rest of us nodded. To be honest, the thought of performing live on national television for the first time since my injury terrified me, but I knew I was going to have to get over my nerves one way or another. Although he said nothing, I could tell by the look on Brian’s face that he was feeling the same sense of anxiety.
“We’re going to promote this as Kevin’s big comeback and the Backstreet Boys’ first performance with all five members in more than six years,” Melissa added. “You’ll do a brief interview, followed by a fifteen-minute performance.”
“So we could probably sing four or five songs,” Howie said happily. “That sounds great!”
Four or five songs? I wondered which ones we would choose. “I Want It That Way,” of course. Probably “Everybody” as well. Those were our two biggest hits, and singing “Backstreet’s back, all right!” would be the perfect way to kick off or close out our comeback performance. But what would we do about the choreography? I’d thought we would have plenty of time to figure that out before we went back on tour. I hadn’t counted on being asked to perform in front of a live audience so soon.
As I sat there silently panicking, I heard Melissa say, “They also booked you for a brief appearance on the show this coming Tuesday, live via satellite from the recording studio.”
“This Tuesday?” I repeated, my anxiety skyrocketing.
“Correct. That way, you can announce that you’re working on a new album and promote the upcoming performance.”
“Ah… okay.” I pretended it was okay, anyway, hoping the others couldn’t tell how nervous I was about appearing on live TV. My pulse had started pounding inside my head, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with autonomic dysreflexia this time. I had only granted a couple of interviews since the accident, one to a reporter from People magazine and one to Diane Sawyer for an episode of 20/20. I did them for the fans and for my son, saving the large sums of money I was paid for Mason’s college fund. Otherwise, I’d kept a pretty low profile for the last few years, preferring to stay out of the public eye and protect my family’s privacy. I had turned down every interview request I’d gotten since my return to the group was announced in April, but now that I had officially gone back to work, I knew I couldn’t continue to hide from the world. The time had come to step back into the limelight.
Jenn must have heard the hesitation in my voice because she added, “They’ve agreed not to ask any questions about your injury, Kevin. We made it clear that the focus should be on the new music and your comeback, not your disability.”
That made me feel a little better. “Thanks,” I said gratefully. “Sounds good, then.”
When the meeting ended, we agreed to take a twenty-minute break before we went back to work. “I’ll be back,” AJ announced, slipping a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket as he headed out to the courtyard behind the studio.
“Nothing like a quick smoke before you sing,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head with disapproval as I watched him walk away. I’d been warning him for years that he was going to ruin his voice with that bad habit, but, fortunately, it hadn’t happened yet. Ironically, it was Brian who had lost his voice, despite never smoking more than the occasional celebratory cigar. Just one more example of how unfair the world can be, I thought with a sigh as I wheeled myself into the bathroom.
AJ was still outside when I got back to the main studio. Taking a look around the large room, I noticed Nick sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor in the corner with his eyes closed and his headphones on, softly humming to himself. Howie was nowhere to be found, but Brian was sitting on one of the couches, hunched over his phone. “Everybody good back home?” I asked as I rolled over to him.
“Yep.” He glanced up. “Hey, you wanna sit here so you can elevate that knee for a while?”
I looked down at my right knee. It wasn’t as swollen as it had been on Wednesday, but a big purple bruise had erupted where the redness had been. I was still icing it at night and popping ibuprofen throughout the day to prevent the pain from triggering another episode of AD. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”
He helped me transfer to the couch and put a chair in front of me to prop up my foot, adding a throw pillow for extra padding before he carefully lifted my leg onto it. “How’s that?” he asked.
“Fine, as far as I can tell,” I said with a shrug. “Thanks.”
Brian sat back down on the other couch, adjacent to mine. “So, how ya feelin’ about going on Good Morning America?” he asked me.
I shrugged. “Nervous.”
He nodded. “I could tell. Me too,” he admitted.
I glanced over at him. “You worried about your voice?”
“Yeah. I just never know what’s gonna come out when I open my mouth anymore, you know? Sometimes it sounds great, and sometimes it sounds like complete crap,” he said with a sigh. “I hate it.”
I felt his frustration. “I know what it’s like to not have control over part of your body,” I said sympathetically. “It sucks. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this, cuz.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t complain. At least it’s just my vocal cords. I can’t imagine not being able to use my legs or my fingers or…”
“It’s not a competition,” I said as he trailed off, his lips tightening into a thin line. “I wasn’t trying to one-up you or anything; I was just trying to empathize with you.”
Brian nodded. “No, I know. If there’s anyone in the group who can understand what I’m going through, it’s you. I just wanted you to know that you’re not the only one who’s nervous.” He offered me a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through it together.”
“Thanks,” I said, returning his smile. “I know I’m not alone, and neither are you. You and the guys have always been there for me, and we’re gonna have your back, too. You’ve got this.”
“You giving pep talks, Kev?” Howie asked as he came over, carrying a cup of tea. He sat down next to me on the couch. “I want one.”
“Howie D.” I turned to him, smiling. “Best songwriter in the group.”
“Ha!” He shook his head, grinning back at me. “Hardly.”
“No, really,” I insisted. “I’m serious! You’ve got a way with words, D. And you always come up with clever ideas for songs.”
“Well, thanks, Kevin. That means a lot coming from you,” Howie replied. Then he turned his head toward Brian. “Should we show him the one we’ve been working on?”
Brian shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” He reached for his guitar as Howie set his tea down and got up to grab his laptop. He sat back down beside Brian so they could both see its screen. I had seen the two of them working together in a corner of the studio the previous day, but they hadn’t performed anything for the rest of us.
I watched curiously as Brian strummed a chord, then cleared his throat and softly began to sing:
“I… I’ve waited all my life
To step out from the light
And see the shadows fading.
You… you’ve always stood so tall.
I never thought you’d fall,
But now it’s you that’s fading.”
He glanced up from his guitar, looking me in the eye as Howie joined him in harmony.
“I know that inside you’re delicate,
Though you say that
You don’t need someone
To take care of you, but
I…
Take care of
You…
Take care of
I…
Take care of
You…
Take care of you.”
Their voices rose and fell, stretching the words “I” and “you” into a full-on riff. As I listened to the lyrics, I realized they were singing about me.
“That’s all we’ve got so far,” Howie said when they finished, setting his laptop aside before looking uncertainly back at me. “What do you think?”
“I like it,” I said, nodding. “But, you know, I’m not that delicate.” As I said it, I remembered that, two days earlier, I had been rushed to the hospital with a skinned elbow and a bruised knee. Okay, so maybe I was delicate.
Brian and Howie exchanged glances. “We know you’re not,” Brian said quickly, meeting my eye again. “You’re the strongest person I know. But it’s not just about you. It’s about being there for someone you care about. That could be a friend, a family member, a lover… anyone.”
“But we were inspired by what happened the other day,” Howie admitted with a sheepish smile.
“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “I’m glad me wiping out in my wheelchair was so inspiring to you.” I felt my face redden as I recalled the humiliation of lying on the hard pavement like the pile of garbage I’d run over.
“No, no, not that part!” he replied, shaking his head. “It was watching the way Nick and AJ jumped into action and took care of you. They knew exactly what to do.”
“Well, they did live with me for almost four months after my accident,” I said, shrugging. “They’ve seen me with AD before; they know what it looks like and how to handle it.”
“Exactly my point,” said Howie. “I wouldn’t have known how to help you, but they did.”
Brian cleared his throat again. “Not to get all sentimental on you, cuz, but when we went to the hospital the other day… it took me back to the time after your accident.”
“Deja vu, huh?” I said knowingly. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was triggered by hospitals.
He nodded. “It was so hard for me to see you like that, lying helpless in a hospital bed. I mean, my whole life, I looked up to you – literally – so hearing the doctor say you would probably never walk again was a bitter pill to swallow. That’s what I was thinking about when I wrote the first verse – the way you were then, not the way you are now. You’ve come so far since then.”
So have you, I thought, remembering how reluctant Brian had been to accept the reality that my paralysis was permanent and couldn’t be prayed away. At the time, I had been so wrapped up in my own grief that I hadn’t realized just how much the accident had affected the people around me. Hearing him talk about my hospitalization from his perspective reminded me that my family and friends had been traumatized by the experience, too.
“And not only you,” Howie said, “but that one, too.” He tipped his head toward Nick’s corner. “Nick’s changed a lot in the last few years.”
I glanced over at Nick, who was still listening to his headphones, seemingly lost in his own little world. “Nothing like a potentially life-threatening diagnosis to give you the wake-up call you needed,” I said with a grim smile. I had been a witness to Nick’s “Come to Jesus” moment, when a cardiologist told him he could drop dead someday if he didn’t make drastic lifestyle changes. Since then, he had stopped doing drugs, cut back on his drinking, and lost a significant amount of weight through diet and exercise.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t just that,” Howie insisted. “You also had an impact on him, Kevin. Admit it: Nick was a mess when he moved in with you. But, by the time he moved out, he was different – more mature, responsible, level-headed. You helped him as much as he helped you.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that wasn’t true, that I couldn’t take credit for Nick’s efforts to turn his life around, but I closed it again as I began to recall the ways I had supported Nick’s wellness journey. I was the one who had forced him to dump all the alcohol in my house down the drain, accompanied him to the grocery store to get healthy food, worked out with him, and encouraged him while also holding him accountable for his actions.
“Don’t even try to argue with me – you know I’m right,” Howie added with a grin.
“You have a point, D,” I admitted, thinking about all the tough times we’d been through together in addition to my accident and Nick’s personal drama. Brian’s heart surgery, the deaths of Howie’s sister and father, AJ’s battle with addiction… “I guess we’ve all taken care of each other in different ways, haven’t we?”
Howie and Brian both nodded. “We’re brothers,” Brian said simply. “We’ve always had each other’s backs. That’s why we’re still together and stronger than ever.”
I smiled. “True.” After less than a week of living together, our bond felt tighter than it had ever been. “This was a good idea,” I added, looking around the studio.
“Thanks.” Nick walked over, wearing his headphones around his neck. How long had he been listening to us? I wondered if he had heard what we’d said about him. “Where’s AJ?” he wanted to know.
Howie shrugged. “Still outside smoking… or making his stupid bomb videos.”
“He should be back soon,” Brian said, glancing at his watch. “We said twenty minutes, right?”
Nick nodded. “I’ma start warming up my voice,” he said, wandering back to his corner. We listened to him run through his vocal warm-ups while we waited for AJ to return.
When AJ finally came back in from his smoke break, he joined us to watch Nick record the first verse and chorus of “Madeleine.” It normally didn’t take Nick long to lay down his vocals, but that day, he struggled.
“Hold on… don’t let g– Fuck,” he said when he hit the wrong note. “One more time. Sorry.” Taking a deep breath, he tried again: “Hold on… don’t let go. Hold on… you’ll know… that help is on its way…”
It sounded good to me, but Nick wasn’t satisfied.
“Ugh.” He shook his head. “Almost. One more time,” he told the soundboard operator, wiping his nose. “I can do that better.” He paced behind the microphone, pressing his palms together like he was praying as he tried to get himself together. “Okay…”
The cameras rolled as we listened to him repeat the pre-chorus for what felt like the fiftieth time.
“Hold on… don’t let go. Hold on… you’ll know… that help is on its– Uck, again. That’s fucking horrible,” he muttered, tearing off his headphones.
I had never seen Nick be so hard on himself. “And here I thought I was the perfectionist in the group,” I said, shaking my head. “Seems I’ve been replaced.” The others chuckled, but Nick didn’t even crack a smile.
“I just wanna get it right,” he said, slumping onto a chair with a sigh. “This is, like, a really powerful song, you know? I think a lot of our fans will be able to relate to it.”
“I think so, too. But, Nick, you don’t have to sing it perfectly,” I pointed out. “You’re obsessing over hitting every note just right, but I think it sounds better if you let it be a little raw. Forget about the technical stuff and focus on the emotion of the song. When you sing from the heart, you’re not thinking about performing everything correctly. You’re just trying to be in the moment.”
Nick nodded. “I know what you mean, but for me, I’ve just been detached from my emotions for a long time,” he replied, fumbling with his headphones. “And that’s just the protection thing, you know?” He fidgeted, shifting his weight in his seat.
I thought I understood where he was coming from. Nick had been hurt so many times before – by women he’d dated, by people he’d considered friends, even by his own family members – that he’d built up walls to try to protect himself. It wasn’t easy for him to let his guard down and open up to people. In the past, he had turned to drugs and alcohol to dull the pain and prevent himself from feeling too much. These days, he had healthier ways of distracting himself from negative emotions – working out, writing, painting, making music – but now, I was asking him to face those feelings instead of trying to shut them out.
“So find something you can connect to – even if it makes you uncomfortable.” I thought back to my conversation with Brian and Howie. “I mean, when I hear the chorus, I think about being in the hospital after my accident. That was the hardest time in my life, but having you guys there helped make it a little easier. You were the light in the dark. You gave me hope that life would go on, that it would get better. And it has.” A lump rose in my throat as I remembered lying flat on my back in a hospital bed, listening to their words of encouragement. Swallowing hard, I added, “If it helps, imagine that you’re singing to me instead of Madeleine.”
That made Nick smile. “Anything for you, Kev,” he said as he stood up and walked back up to the microphone. Within minutes, he was singing his heart out. “Rise up, rise up, rise up, Madeleine,” he crooned, switching effortlessly from his full voice to a heavenly falsetto. “The sun’ll come out again…”
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as chills went down my spine. Nick’s voice had matured so much over the last few years. He had never sounded better.
“Rise up, rise up, rise up, Madeleine.
The summer will come and
Kiss you with honesty,
Love you unconditionally,
Trust you and let you breathe,
Give you back your dignity,
So rise up, rise up, rise and live again
‘Cause only you can, Madeleine…”
As he trailed off, I gave him a nod of approval. “See? There you go. That was great, Nick!”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
“Well sung, Sir Nickolas. Now you get to wear the hat,” said AJ, jamming the Union Jack hat onto Nick’s head over the black beanie he was already wearing. Nick looked so pleased with himself that he left the hat on for the rest of the afternoon.
There was still a group of fans waiting for us out front when we left the studio that evening. “Kevin!” a few of them called, waving at me. “Will you take a photo with us?”
After working all day, I was tired and hungry. I didn’t feel like taking photos. But thinking about where I’d been four years ago had made me appreciate how blessed I was to be here in London, back at work with my brothers. The newly-paralyzed Kevin lying in that hospital bed back in L.A. wouldn’t have believed it was possible, but I had proved him wrong. I would never take this part of my life for granted again.
“Don’t y’all have anywhere better to be on a Friday night?” I asked, forcing a smile onto my face as I wheeled myself over to where the fans were standing.
They shook their heads. “We wanna be wherever you and the boys are,” one of them answered, beaming back at me.
“How’s the new album coming along?” another one wanted to know.
“It’s going good so far,” I said, nodding. “We can’t wait for you to hear it.”
Following my lead, the other guys and I posed for a few pictures before we piled back into the van. “How lucky are we to still have such a devoted fan base after almost twenty years?” I asked, looking out the window. The fans were still standing outside on the sidewalk, watching and waving as our van pulled away from the curb.
“We’ve got the best fans in the world,” Howie agreed as he waved back at them.
“They couldn’t be happier to have you back, cuz,” Brian added, smiling at me. “Just wait till we start performing again. It’s gonna be insane.”
I imagined myself on a stage in front of an arena full of fans, bright lights flashing in my face as high-pitched screams filled my ears. It had been so long since I’d performed with the Backstreet Boys, but in spite of my looming anxiety about how we were going to pull it off, the mental image made me smile.
“Yeah, I’m sure it will be,” I said, smiling at my reflection in the glass. “But I can’t wait.”
***