The engineer of the Backstreet Boys and 'N Sync puts his starmaker power behind a TV show about as real as MTV's Real World.

ORLANDO -- It's just before 5 p.m., and Big Poppa is ready for a show.

Sprawled over a leather couch in a cramped rehearsal studio, Big Poppa -- otherwise known as Trans Continental Records founder and president Louis J. Pearlman -- hardly looks like the mastermind behind today's teen pop boom, assembling multimillion-selling acts such as the Backstreet Boys, 'N Sync and LFO.

With his sizable girth, ill-fitting jeans, black loafers and thinning hair, sometimes he looks more like the guy who should be sweeping up the place.

But it was this Queens, N.Y., native who glimpsed pop music's future, after renting a plane to '80s teenyboppers New Kids on the Block.

Even then, Pearlman, now 46, could see the dollars and sense in sticking a group of good-looking young guys in front of a microphone.

And Big Poppa's at it again, honing five guys who first met each other 3 1/2 months ago into his latest stab at the teen pop money train: O-Town.

Working with ABC and the producers behind MTV's Real World and Road Rules series, Pearlman has picked five guys from a field of more than 1,800 aspirants. He has housed them in a three-bedroom home while welding them into a working band through a battery of vocal lessons, dance coaching and physical training.

And in an idea that's equal parts EDtv, Real World and The Monkees, the whole process has been taped by cameras and turned into a TV series, dubbed Making the Band.

As the series unfolds, viewers will see 25 semi-finalists winnowed down to eight finalists and then the five lucky bandmembers. In the process, they'll share in the emotional rollercoaster of watching talented young men chase the biggest opportunity of their lives.

More chummy cheerleader than stern taskmaster, Big Poppa greets the band members with bear hugs and backslapping, days before they'll hit the stage for a short benefit concert in Atlanta.

"You guys ready? How's everybody feelin'?" he asks, urging one of his guys fighting the flu to try some Vicks VapoRub. "What are you gonna do to get better? You takin' medication?"

Before long, the group is churning through its opening set, launching into a performance choreographed to prerecorded music tracks.

The dancing is energetic and involved, with touches of modern dance, hip-hop and straight-up Broadway-style moves stitched together in a complex, demanding pastiche.

Thanks to weeks of training, O-Town hits its marks with precision (though some background vocal parts are sweetened by prerecorded voices). The wall of mirrors they face allows their dance coach to spot any potential misstep.

Always protective of their young charges, Pearlman's people won't allow a journalist to watch Big Poppa's analysis of their short set. But he remains confident O-Town has a shot at the teenybopper jackpot.

"What we've accomplished in such a short period of time is mind-boggling," he says later, his thick, Queens-bred accent coloring the words. "Backstreet had a year and a half before they went out into the public (and) 'N Sync had a year. This is no time."

How do you do this? To truly understand the scope of this project, it helps to visit The House.

Sandwiched among the sprawling estates of Orlando's upscale Windemere neighborhood, O-Town's band home is a marvel of technology and purpose, with a spacious living room, well-equipped dining area, modern-looking furniture and impressive fireplace.

But walk around to the rear of the building, inside the garage, and you step into another world.

The nerve center of Making the Band lies here, in a control room. That's where the efforts of four camera crews are coordinated to capture the movements of the O-Town boys -- whether they're going to a rehearsal, club-hopping or watching a movie.

Wall-mounted surveillance cameras allow the directors to see all of the common areas in the house, with bedrooms and bathrooms generally off-limits. There's also a camera and microphone stuck on the telephone, to catch emotional conversations with faraway girlfriends or family.

A wallful of TV monitors displays the images. A small army of production staffers edits the footage, makes future plans and coordinates current coverage. All in a small suite of rooms the band and everyone else appearing on camera is forbidden to see.

It's an elaborate construct, developed by Bunim/Murray Productions, the company that captures MTV's Real World and Road Rules series.

"If you're documenting squirrels, you don't go around feeding them, because that affects what you see," says Bunim/Murray staffer Steve Palmer, explaining the show's hands-off policy. "For us, it's like watching a cable access show, except it's really happening."

(And no, Palmer says, he has never seen the movie that most effectively skewers such "reality TV" set-ups, The Truman Show.)

Pearlman says he got the idea for Making the Band from the legions of performer wanna-bes, stage parents and journalists who kept asking him the same question.

How did you do this?

"People would love to be a fly on the wall (watching) when Backstreet or LFO got started . . . to see the camaraderie develop," he says. "So we put these guys in a house . . . (because) that's where they bond. And they have a common goal, which is making the group work."

A glimpse of the hourlong premiere shows Bunim/Murray's trademark style, developed during eight seasons of Real World. Viewers are introduced to several performers who hoped to make the cut, talking about their lives against the backdrop of the selection process.

The first hour documents selecting the eight finalists: Ashley Parker Angel, 18, of Redding, Calif; Bryan Chan, 25, of Santa Barbara, Calif; Erik-Michael Estrada, (no relation to the CHiPs heartthrob) 20, of Orlando; Ikaika Kohoano, 21, of Honolulu; Paul Martin, 21, of Clinton, Miss.; Michael Miller, 19, of Coral Springs, Fla.; Trevor Penick, 19, of Ontario, Calif.; and Jacob Underwood, 19, of San Diego.

With such novice performers, Pearlman and his staff also serve as surrogate uncles, coaching the young men on dealing with road schedules, press conferences and the personal impact of this new life they're entering.

More than talent, creative ideas or artistic spirit, it's devotion to this grueling regimen that proves the difference between success and failure in the world of boy bands, according to Pearlman.

"There's not a lot of trade secrets here . . . it's just dedication and putting up the time and money," says the mogul, who estimates he spent up to $3-million on the Backstreet Boys before the profits started rolling in.

"You got to pick the right material, the right record company partners . . . and the right facilities," says Pearlman, referring to the $6-million recording/rehearsal/TV studio where he now develops acts in suburban Orlando. "Backstreet and 'N Sync rehearsed out of our airship warehouse, sweating next to the blimp parts. These guys (O-Town) are fortunate enough to have air conditioning."

Pop goes the product Big Poppa's formula, laid bare in Making the Band, turns the conventional view of pop music on its ear -- offering a band that will land a TV show, record deal and national attention before they've finished their first album.

Even though O-Town plans to record songs they've written, most of their material is developed by professional songwriters (including hit machine Diane Warren). Producers craft their sound, choreographers create their dance moves and wardrobe consultants pick their clothes -- even their name was chosen before the band members were.

So where's the artist in all this?

"For an awful lot of people, what is most bothersome about a group like this being so nakedly assembled, is that they believe pop music is about personal expression . . . an artist saying something about life," says rock critic J.D. Considine of the Baltimore Sun. "This is pop music as pure product."

And in today's instant pop culture, there's no time for the group to develop itself through years of dues-paying gigs in out-of-the-way dives.

"You look at a group like R.E.M . . . they developed (a fan base) over time," says Jeremy Helligar, entertainment editor at Teen People magazine, who met the band earlier this month during a promotional tour. "In today's climate, everything has to happen yesterday. This is what people are buying right now; I don't think anybody is looking at longevity. They're looking at making money."

Though Pearlman and Co. have built mega-bands before, one thing they can't predict is the impact of introducing the private lives of their artists to a nationwide audience before a note of music is released.

Ask O-Town about the possible consequences and they simply shrug their shoulders. For a generation weaned on Real World and Jerry Springer, such media intrusions seem a natural price of fame.

"We've sacrificed our personal privacy for the launch pad of getting our music out quicker and having people relate to who we are as a band," says one bandmember (to avoid giving away who makes the final cut, we're not disclosing their names in quotes for this story). "That's something that's never been done before."

But can anybody really be prepared for a nation peering in on them?

"I don't know which is more disturbing; the voyeuristic aspect of the show . . . or the exhibitionists that are doing it," Considine says. "I have to wonder about people who assume that part and parcel of celebrity is exchanging your personal life for fame and stardom."

Big Poppa knows there are some who question his methods.

Last May, the Backstreet Boys filed suit against him and former managers Johnny and Donna Wright, alleging the Wrights and Pearlman split up $10-million in profits while only giving them $300,000.

And 'N Sync filed a $25-million countersuit against Pearlman last year, after he and BMG Entertainment filed their own $150-million suit to keep the band from leaving RCA records, according to the Washington Post.

Both lawsuits, which Pearlman blames on lawyers and managers outside his company, were eventually settled. And to keep such ugliness from erupting again, Trans Continental now manages all the acts on its record label -- including up-and-comers such as Take 5, Innosense and C Note.

"People (criticize) me, but they never talk about record companies that regularly take 86 percent of an artist's royalties," says Pearlman, who is excoriated by fans of both bands on Web sites with names like the Screw Lou page. "The fans should realize that if it wasn't for me, there wouldn't be a Backstreet Boys or 'N Sync, because I'm the catalyst that made it happen."

His plan for O-Town is already in place, with two singles and an album release scheduled from spring to summer, with promotional touring to supplement the TV show's publicity.

Plopped inside ABC's teen-friendly TGIF programming lineup, Making the Band has a shot at success on Fridays, when fewer people watch TV and expectations aren't as high.

But even if this experiment fails, Pearlman knows his formula for success -- clean cut, fair-skinned kids with pinup-ready looks and hip-hop-tinged pop material -- will remain viable for years to come.

"I think it's an endless cycle . . . as long as God's making little boys, He'll be making little girls and they'll love each other," he says, laughing a little.