01:00 AM EDT on Monday, August 15, 2005

BY DEEPA RANGANATHAN
Journal Staff Writer

You've got to hand it to the Backstreet Boys.

They took a few years off. One went into rehab, another got arrested and tried a solo career. In the meanwhile, their brand of wholesome, propulsive teen pop went under and didn't come back up for air.

But if the packed crowd at the Tweeter Center, in Mansfield, Mass., last night was any indication, the Backstreet Boys still have a hugely loyal fan base -- and it doesn't consist wholly of parent-chaperoned preteens, either.

In a tightly choreographed, two-hour show, the Boys -- five men in their late twenties and early thirties -- stuck mostly to old favorites such as "You Are My Fire" and "Quit Playing Games," a decision that won eardrum-ripping shrieks from the crowd. They also threw in a few funky songs from their otherwise snoozy new CD, Never Gone.

The boys were a marvel of machine-like synchronicity, popping their knees and pumping their fists in perfect unison. They also gratified the crowd with their famously weird dance moves: the cocked head, the suddenly outstretched arm, the clenched fist descending slowly.

The Boys -- who, of course, aren't really boys anymore -- kept the synchronized dancing and staged fireworks to a minimum, however. They focused instead on delivering an oozingly sincere performance. Once you got past the weirdness of witnessing five grown men go into paroxysms of emotional anguish again and again, the Boys proved immensely likable.

For one thing, they were obviously having a great time. Nick Carter flirted alarmingly with the front rows and writhed on the floor, red-faced and drenched in sweat. Brian Littrell, wearing a backward sun visor, mugged like an ingratiating veejay. The newly sober A.J. McLean scowled with intensity. Everyone was working hard.

The boys also seemed invested in making a connection with their audience, which consisted largely of overwrought girls in their late teens. A.J. blinked mournfully in the spotlight and wiped away tears, thanking his audience for supporting him as he worked his way through rehab. The group often held their microphones out to the audience, mouthing the words to help the crowd along.

Sure, it was kind of Disney. The group's considerable energy felt hyper-rehearsed. No movement was spontaneous, and each Backstreet Boy maintained his distinct persona -- rock star, bad boy, strong and silent, suave, or big brotherly -- at all times.

But after a years-long hiatus that could have wiped out the group's fan base, it was impressive to see the kind of adoration the Backstreet Boys still inspire.

At one point, Littrell asked the crowd how many had seen the Black & Blue concert. The Millennium concert. Even the debut concert in the late 1990s.

Nearly every arm in the arena and a deafening roar went up for all three. Littrell smiled. "Some of you yelling aren't over 12," he said. "You weren't even born yet."