Future prediction: Eager to shake off their throwaway boy-band image and
escape the built-in obsolescence of manufactured teen-pop, the Backstreet Boys
take a leaf out of Radiohead's book and release an album of top-40-unfriendly,
6+-minute experimental noodlings, hiring the likes of Richard James and Mark Bell
(of Björk fame) for production.
It flops and gets about as much critical acclaim as Vanilla Ice's rap-metal
makeover (despite being plugged by industry marketing shills), at the same time
alienating their fan base. The group sinks without a trace not long after that.
The album, soon deleted, becomes a collector's item amongst the more
eristically-inclined obscurantist trainspotters (the ones who have Rump's Hating Brenda,
Pat Boone's In A Metal Mood and Pee Wee Ferris' commercial-dance take
on Blue Monday in their collections)