Okay, I'll be up front about it: I don't get this phenomenon called the Backstreet Boys. I'm too old (ie. over 16), too male and too cynical to really be objective about this sort of pre-fab grist for the teen (and, in many cases, pre-teen) hysteria mill. And make no mistake, the response accorded these five young lads -- who range in age from their late teens to their mid-20s -- at the Corel Centre last night definitely qualifies as hysteria. Like I said, I don't get it. But I figure I owe the Boys the benefit of an open mind. They're on the verge of selling two million records in this country, after all, and last night's show was the fourth sellout performance they've brought to Ottawa in less than a year. Something's obviously clicking somewhere. Having said all that, though, a couple of things about last night have me relaxing my anti-Backstreet attitude a wee bit. The first was the show itself, which -- although it pains me to admit it -- actually gave the kiddies their money's worth. Illuminated by plumes of sparks and dressed in variously-shaded track suits, the Boys kicked into the bouncy opener That's The Way I Like It (at least, that's what the record label's set list said it was -- I had a helluva job hearing anything over the racket of approval) like some kind of Teen Beat Kiss. They kept the showmanship up throughout. Sure, the tunes are insipid pop fluff, and the energetic stage antics -- be it acrobatic young Nick Carter tumbling across the floor or A.J. McLean flashing his new tattoos -- are clearly designed to give teenage girls heart palpitations But the group obviously has something to prove. As Boy Howie Dorough put it earlier in the day at their downtown press conference, they don't want to be seen as "a flash in the pan." So they did their best to "stretch" themselves. They threw in a solo section, obviously designed -- a la The Spice Girls -- to show off their different personalities. Howie rose gently from the centre trap door sporting a floppy white suit (sort of like the one Don Johnson used to wear on Miami Vice) and carrying a bouquet of roses in his arms to deliver a sensitive, falsetto ballad. A.J. McLean pulled a bit of lover-man, Mack Daddy action, momentarily exposing his torso and tattoos to howls of approval. The real surprise was Brian Littrell, who studiously hunched over an acoustic guitar and dredged up a ballad (That's What She Said) that wouldn't have sounded out of place on a Mr. Big or Extreme record a few years back. Sure, the song was cookie-cutter dreadful, and he turned the playing over to a sideman midway through, but points for effort. Then, another surprise. After a couple of theatrical false starts on their hit Quit Playing Games With My Heart, the Boys dismissed their band and -- no kidding -- picked up an instrument apiece to play and sing the song themselves. It sounded a bit shaky and tentative (as exemplified by the fuller sound that greeted the band's eventual return), but nevertheless kind of endearing. And, hey, after a couple of enormous hits -- Quit Playing Games With My Heart and As Long As You Love Me -- and a fist-pumping encore of We Got It Goin' On, they delivered a finale that would turn consummate showmen like Pink Floyd or Metallica green with envy. The horror-film-themed video for the Boys' single Everybody (Backstreet's Back) played on the big screens briefly, red light flooded the stage and a massive Grim Reaper figure appeared, swinging his scythe. Jets of flame shot up from the front of the stage, and the boys emerged from five mobile coffins to sing the song. Very Disneyland, but then again, so's Elton John. "Just put down that the Backstreet Boys rocked the Corel Centre," said fan Magda Serwin, 13, as she peered at my laptop over my shoulder after the show. Again, I don't get it. But I'm willing to listen to the girls.