Backstreet Boys - I - Want It That Way -fuentez -...
Martin’s reply, legend has it, was a shrug: “It doesn’t matter. It feels right.”
The song peaked at #6 on the Hot 100 (blocked by Ricky Martin’s “Livin’ la Vida Loca” and TLC’s “No Scrubs”), but internationally it went #1 in over 25 countries. In the UK, it sold 1.5 million copies and won the 1999 Brit Award for Best International Single. Backstreet Boys - I want it that way -Fuentez -...
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)? Martin’s reply, legend has it, was a shrug:
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. However, a very plausible link: The co-writer of
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?
“I Want It That Way” endures because it resists closure. It is a song about wanting without specifying what—a perfect metaphor for desire itself. And in that endless ambiguity, there is room for a forgotten session player named Fuentez, a misprinted CD, and a million teenage fans who didn’t need logic. They just needed to believe.
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.
