Backstreet Boys - I Want It That Way -fuentez -... 〈Top-Rated ⇒〉

Twenty-seven years later, “I Want It That Way” has been streamed over 1.5 billion times, named Billboard’s #10 greatest boy band song of all time, and inspired countless parodies, memes, and wedding first dances. But beneath its glossy, radio-friendly surface lies a tangled story of creative conflict, accidental genius, and a ghost credit that fan forums still argue about: the mysterious “Fuentez.” To understand the song, you must understand the factory that built it: Cheiron Studios in Stockholm, Sweden. In the late ‘90s, producer Max Martin and his team—Denniz Pop (RIP), Kristian Lundin, Andreas Carlsson, and Rami Yacoub—were refining a formula that would dominate pop for two decades. Their method: write 50 choruses, keep the catchiest one, and prioritize melodic “hooks” over lyrical coherence.

Others insist “Fuentez” is a misspelling of , a Swedish session musician who worked on Millennium ’s “Don’t Want You Back.” But BMI and ASCAP databases show no “Fuentez” attached to “I Want It That Way.”

“I Want It That Way” began as a ballad. Martin and Carlsson had a chord progression and a title: “I Want It That Way.” Carlsson later admitted the phrase was deliberately ambiguous—a breakup song where the narrator insists on emotional distance, or a love song about accepting a partner’s flaws? Both readings work. Neither is fully satisfying. That’s the point. Backstreet Boys - I want it that way -Fuentez -...

Whether fact or fiction, the Fuentez myth serves a larger truth: “I Want It That Way” was not the work of a single genius but a collision of talents—Swedish precision, American soul, and one anonymous guitarist whose three minutes of work helped define a decade. In 2024, the Backstreet Boys performed the song on their DNA World Tour. Nick Carter, now 44, introduced it: “This song has no real meaning. That’s why it means everything.” The crowd roared.

However, a very plausible link: The co-writer of "I Want It That Way" was (not Fuentez), but if you’re thinking of Johan "Jones" Wetterberg — no. Could it be Espanola/Fuentez from fan fiction or a tribute act? Or perhaps you mean Daisy Fuentes (TV host, not songwriter)? Twenty-seven years later, “I Want It That Way”

As Brian Littrell hits that final, suspended note— “I never wanna hear you say…” —the crowd finishes: “That you want it that way.”

Brian Littrell once joked in a 2014 interview: “To this day, I don’t know what ‘I want it that way’ means. But when 50,000 people sing it back to you, it means everything.” Director Wayne Isham’s music video—airport security corridor, white suits, choreographed anguish—cemented the song’s legacy. The image of Nick Carter leaning against a baggage carousel, mouthing “You are my fire,” became a generation’s shorthand for longing. Their method: write 50 choruses, keep the catchiest

In 2017, a Reddit user claiming to be Fuentez’s nephew posted: “My uncle Carlos played the arpeggios. He said Max Martin made him redo it 40 times until it ‘felt like a heartbeat.’ They paid him $800 and a pizza.” The post was deleted, but screenshots remain.

In early 1999, before the final version was recorded, a session guitarist named (according to uncorroborated forum posts from ATRL and UKMix) was brought in to play the song’s clean electric guitar arpeggios. His contribution, some claim, was the “spark” that turned the demo into a hit—adding a Latin-tinged warmth to the sterile Swedish production.

But the demo was slower, sadder, more R&B. Backstreet’s label, Jive Records, wanted a lead single that could conquer Top 40 radio. Martin sped it up, added a synth arpeggio, and layered the vocals until the melancholy was buried under euphoria. Here’s where the name “Fuentez” enters the story—though no official credit exists.

The truth, likely, is that “Fuentez” is a ghost—a fan myth born from a misprinted liner note in a Philippine bootleg CD (1999’s Backstreet’s Back Asia Tour Edition listed “Guitars: C. Fuentez”). No major archive confirms it. But the mystery persists because the song itself thrives on ambiguity. Let’s examine the most confusing couplet in pop history: “You are my fire / The one desire / Believe when I say / I want it that way.” If you are my fire and my desire, why would I want it that way —the “way” presumably being apart? The second verse doubles down: “Ain’t nothing but a heartache / Ain’t nothing but a mistake.” Wait—so “that way” means heartache and mistake? Then why the soaring, romantic melody?