Backstreet Mom: A Mother's Tale of Backstreet Boy AJ McLean's Rise to Fame, Struggle With Addiction, and Ultimate Triumph (2 page)
Authors: Denise I. McLean
EIGHT The Price Tag of Success
ELEVEN A Farewell & a Confession
DENISE I. McLEAN
I WROTE THIS BOOK with the hope that I could pass along some
insight into the business of entertainment for other parents to share
with their children. I also wish to help those single parents dealing with
the issues of raising a family in this high-pressured world we all try to
survive in on a day-to-day basis. I believe that all children have a gift
and as a parent it is your job to unwrap it, nurture it and share it forever.
The experiences you live with your children are priceless and should
never be taken for granted, whether they are good or bad. Save the good
ones for memories and learn from the bad.
ALEXANDER JAMES :LEAN
THIS WAS NEVER thought to be a life-long journey. But my emotional
and physical travels continue to take me along a path toward peace,
success and love for my closest friends and family. This book is both
knowledge and truth about my life and the life of my mother. I hope
this book finds you learning and living with a better understanding of
how the success and friendship of a son or daughter and their parent(s)
can be unconditional and everlasting, and /or broken.
P.S. You can live and learn, but you cannot learn to live. So just live.
Does His Thing
MARCH 1994-Upon our arrival at jive Records' headquarters in
Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood, we were given a quick tour of the
three floors that the company occupied in the twelve-story building.
Jive Records was founded by South African entrepreneur Clive Calder,
who had an office on the sixth floor.
With its many cubicles the layout of the office reminded me of a
company where I once worked, though we turned out telephone systems,
not world-class music. I had never seen a music factory, so I didn't know
what to expect.
As we walked the halls, saying our hellos to what seemed like an
endless number of faces, I couldn't help but notice my son Alex's eyes
widen as he looked at the impressive line of gold records on every wall.
Originally founded as a small independent label in London in the late
1970s, jive Records-the name was taken from "township jive," a type
of South African music-had by 1994 become one of America's leading
hit factories, with an impressive stable of R&B and rap artists, including
R. Kelly, Billy Ocean and others.
"Wow, I didn't know Jive had these guys!" Alex said, gazing at the
gold records.
Then, moments later, he bubbled over with, "Hey fellas look at this
one!"
Alex (you know him as AJ, but he will always be Alex to me) wasn't
the only one there who was impressed.
All of the boys-Alex, Nick, Brian, Kevin and Howie-were pretty
overwhelmed by what they saw. I could not help but think back to the
beginning of all this craziness and marvel at how far we had come.
Admittedly, it had taken over two years of blood, sweat and tears to get
to that point, but all that suddenly faded away. At that particular moment
it was all just so surreal, almost like walking through a dream.
Finally, we were taken to the conference room, where we were greeted
by more gold records. The dark-wood conference table, really too large
for the room, was surrounded by black-leather chairs. 1 could barely
walk around the table without brushing up against the walls. Windows
covered one entire side of the room. At one end of the room, closest to
the door, were two more leather chairs, with a small table just large
enough for a telephone in between them.
Even though the atmosphere was initially welcoming and friendly, a
nervous tension grew as we gathered at the table. I looked around the
room, feeling a bit put-off by the odd seating arrangement. The five
boys sat together on one side of the table, while their manager sat across
from them, next to record-company representatives. Nick Carter's
parents, Bob and Jane, stood behind their son. I stood behind Alex.
An invisible line seemed to divide the boys from their manager, Johnny
Wright, and group founder Lou " Big Poppa" Pearlman, who started off
the meeting by introducing the boys to their attorney, Kendall Minter.
We didn't even know the boys had an attorney, so that was the first
surprise of the day.
Minter was a thin, distinguished-looking black man with a deeply
receding hairline and a pencil-thin mustache. Although none of us knew
anything about him at the time, we later learned that he was a Cornell
University-educated lawyer from New York who had an impressive client
list that included Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Lena Horne, and the
Government of Jamaica. He was what other lawyers like to call a heavy
hitter.
After a few pleasantries, we were told that Mr. Minter had read all the
contracts and, in his "expert" opinion, felt that we now had before us
the best deal we were going to get. That was nice to know, but we each
reached out and took copies to begin reading.
That was the second shock. We were told that Jive Records had made
an offer to the boys. We were not prepared for what was to follow. In our
minds we had been led to believe we were there to hear the offer and
discuss it as a group; we were not prepared to sign contracts. The idea of
listening to an offer and being pressured into signing a potentially lifechanging contract are two entirely different things.
As we went through the documents, Lou and Johnny took turns going
over all of the paragraphs that they felt were important and, with each
line read, questions arose from the parents and the boys.
"In reference to merchandise sales, why does the record company get
part of that-and what is the usual amount?" asked Bob Carter.
"Is this the best deal we can get?" asked one of the boys.
Every time a question arose regarding percentages or the like, Lou,
Johnny and the attorney left the room to speak to the record company
people in private. We were never privy to those discussions. While I
might not have understood a good deal of it, I felt as though I was being
deprived of having some input on my son's behalf.
Back and forth they went, time after time. We even heard some voices
raised a couple of times between Lou and Johnny, but we did not know
why. I felt more like a spectator than a participant. The uncertain glances
cast between Nick's parents and me during the course of the meeting
gave me the idea that they felt the same.
Once the contracts were read through, an awkward silence hung in
the air. Lou looked over at the five boys and smiled. That was our signal
that the terms had been reached and all was final. There was no room
for questions or comments.
Then, from out of nowhere, a lightning bolt struck.
"We'd like our attorney to look over the contract, if you don't mind,"
said Bob.
As soon as I heard that, I piped in and agreed with the Carters that
we should be allowed to take the contracts back to Florida so that we
could sit down with our own attorneys to give them the final onceover. What could that hurt? It might delay things by a week at best.
Didn't people usually go over contracts carefully before they signed
them?
Lou and Johnny seemed stunned by our request. The smile on Lou's
face dissipated into a clenched jaw and wrinkled brow. Johnny's eyes
widened and he grimaced. Not a word came from anyone. After a
moment's silence, Lou's expression softened. "Look, I hired this attorney
for all of us," he said. "He is here to get these five boys the best possible
deal he can. Don't you trust me? Aren't we all one big family?"
What could we say to that? I could not deny that Big Poppa had
opened his heart and his checkbook to us for the last two years. He had
practically supported my son and I for half that time. There was nothing
he hadn't given those boys-dinners, parties, trips. There was no denying
that he had spoiled them. Lou had never positioned himself on the same
level as management. Big Poppa was more like a rich uncle who also
happened to be a financial backer and producer. More like family.
In fact, Lou had referred to himself as the sixth Backstreet Boy from
the very beginning. That was even reflected in the contracts, since his
signature was grouped on the same page as those of the five boys. What
could we do? Part of me agreed with the Carters, but the reality was that
I did not even know a lawyer and, up until now, there had never been a
question of Lou's motives.
Again, Nick's parents spoke up with the same argument. At that point
things got a bit heated and Lou blurted out: "This is the only deal on the
table. It is a take it or leave it situation." My entire body tensed at the
sound of his angry voice. I felt Alex's shoulders jerk. I looked down at
my son and he turned his head up, his eyes filling with tears. I saw his
lip quiver as he pulled up towards me.
"Mom," Alex said, his voice low and pleading. "Please, this is what I
want to do. Please sign the contracts for me."
How could I refuse? With weak knees, I asked if the boys, parents
and I could have a few minutes alone to compose ourselves and talk this
over. Everyone agreed. Soon it was just the boys and the parents alone
in the room. I asked Alex if he was sure. Did he realize what this really
meant? He answered, yes.
Again he said, "Mom please do this for me."
Nick made the same plea to his parents. What else could we do? At
that point, the other three boys had joined in on the conversation. They
wanted to do this as a team, as the brothers they had started to become.
Our children had worked too hard for this day to let it end in
disappointment, so we called everyone back into the room and signed
the contracts. My son was elated, as were the other boys. When we
finished, Lou suggested that we all go out to dinner to celebrate.
The Backstreet Boys were on their way.
