Los Jonas Brothers en la revista Rolling Stone

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It’s nearing 8:00 on a sweltering night in Phoenix, and as the temperature mercifully dips below 100 degrees, a trillion swelling hormones have collected at the Cricket Wireless Pavilion to experience the Jonas Brothers. Among the undersize pilgrims in attendance are Jordan and Jackie, a pair of blond preteens from nearby Scottsdale. Moments ago, they met the Jonas Brothers in person at a “meet and greet” photo op, and now they stand red-cheeked, quivering and sobbing uncontrollably, as if they’ve been told that Disneyland just burned down, with the world’s supply of kittens and baby pandas trapped inside.

“Omigodomigodomigod,” Jordan says, holding her arms aloft and shaking her palms in the air.

“I got tingles in my body all over the place, because I. Just. Met. Nick. Jonas,” Jackie says.

“I’ve wanted to meet them for, like, my whole entire life,” Jordan says.

How old are you?

“Ten.”

It’s like this everywhere. At a Jonas Brothers concert in Dallas, I meet a 17-year-old girl named Lauren who hosted a red-carpet premiere party at her house for the brothers’ recent Disney Channel movie, Camp Rock. (“Even my girlfriends who weren’t into it, we made them dress up,” she says.) I meet girls from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, one of whose dad drove them seven hours to the concert (“He wore an iPod”). I meet many fans who, like the Jonases, wear “purity rings,” vowing chastity until marriage. I meet a precocious 11-year-old named Hannah (not Montana) from New York. “We have to teach people to like the Jonas Brothers,” she instructs me, finger wagging. And why is Hannah from New York in Dallas?

“To see the Jonas Brothers,” she says. “Duh.”
Back in Phoenix, the brothers Jonas — Nick, 15, Joe, 18, and Kevin, 20 — are preparing to start their show. All three boys stand less than five-feet-ten, and each possesses a fantastic mane of dark-brown hair. Joe’s hair is ironed flat. Kevin used to flat-iron his, but now it’s curly again, and he’s got thick sideburns; Nick, the brothers’ chief songwriter and leader, has always kept the curls. Under Nick’s fitted brown linen suit is an insulin pump, adhered to his lower back. Nick was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes in 2005 and must carefully monitor his blood-sugar levels; the band’s mammoth bodyguard, Big Rob, carries an insulin shot at all times in case of an emergency.

The backstage hallway quickly fills with members of the extended Jonas family. There’s the backup band — guys in their 20s, some of whom have been with the JBs since the days when they rattled around New Jersey playing grimy clubs. There’s a swarm of female string players in tuxedo shirts hired to play onstage. There’s the band’s clean-cut co-manager, Phil McIntyre, and there’s Kevin Jonas Sr., the boys’ brown-haired, soft-spoken 43-year-old father. A former Christian musician and church pastor raised in North Carolina, Kevin Sr. serves with McIntyre as the band’s co-manager.

The group forms a circle and clasps hands. “Two quick things,” Kevin Sr. says. “We brought four people from the grass all the way to the front row tonight, so they’re pretty excited.” This is a Jonas norm — plucking die-hards from the nosebleeds and giving them the best seats in the house. Kevin Sr. tells the band to look out for a girl’s softball team that just had a 13-year-old teammate killed in an ATV accident. “They’re right at the end of the catwalk,” he says. “One of them is wearing the shirt the girl was going to wear tonight.”

Kevin Sr. dips his head in prayer. “Heavenly father, we just pray that you’ll bless us this time, let it be fun and safe and exciting,” he says. “Thank you for all the people that are here. We were at 60 percent just a week ago, and it looks full. Lord, we just pray that every person will be encouraged in Jesus’ name.”

The band members and crew holler. “Bring it in!” they shout. Hands are joined and raised to the ceiling.

“Livin’ the dream!” they yell.

Big Rob escorts Nick, Kevin and Joe to their places. Suddenly, the lights go dark, triggering a roar in the 20,000-seat Cricket Wireless Pavilion that can only be described as primal. And it is, in a way. The neuropsychiatrist Dr. Louann Brizendine, author of the bestseller The Female Brain, says the release of dopamine in a screaming teenage girl’s brain upon seeing her pop idols is like “injecting heroin.” Being with other screaming girls, she says, only makes the effect wilder.

“There’s a thing in biology we call synchrony,” Brizendine says. “Basically, one girl affects another affects another, and it becomes a domino effect building up to that level of hysteria. They are getting all these brain hits of dopamine, and also oxytocin, which is a love-and-bonding hormone. Teenage girls have so much estrogen, which just catapults the level of dopamine and oxytocin in the brain, creating this sort of ecstatic rush in themselves and others. It truly is a state of ecstatic love.”

Tonight in Phoenix, as the Jonas Brothers kick off with their buoyant, guitar-driven anthem, “That’s Just the Way We Roll,” it sounds a lot like ecstatic love. It sounds like clean, wholesome fun. It also sounds like money.

Two years ago, we were in a big red passenger van with a trailer hitched to the back with all our gear,” Nick says. It is the afternoon of the Phoenix concert, and the Jonas Brothers are flying to the show in a chartered Gulfstream G4 with espresso-color leather chairs.”Big Bertha,” Joe says. “It had a dent in it, and we’d flip the seats around and call it —”

“The Players Lounge,” Nick says, smiling.

Kevin reaches over and shows me a small display screen attached to the wall. “The amazing thing about this plane? It has cameras all over.” He flips a channel. “That’s the wing.” He flips again. “That’s another.” Flip. “That’s underneath.”

In the back of the plane sit the Jonas parents, Kevin Sr. and Denise, as well as McIntyre, Big Rob and the boys’ personal assistant, Felicia Culotta, who, like Big Rob, used to work the bubblegum trenches for Britney Spears. As we talk, a pretty flight attendant delivers lunch: chicken fingers from KFC.

“We once played this show in Jersey,” Nick says, munching on a chicken finger. “It was, seriously, the most horrible little rock club in the world. It fit maybe 50 people. When we got there, the guy said there was a heavy-metal band the night before that blew out the PA system, so they’d have to take the monitors and spin them around.”

“It was out of control,” says Kevin. “And our crowds were interesting.”

Interesting?

“Curious,” Nick says.

Joe laughs. “It was like when you perform in third grade or your little sister has a ballet. They’d all go like this — ” he puts down his chicken finger and does a slow clap. “It was like that.”

“It had potential,” Nick says. “Like it could be crazy. But it wasn’t there yet.”

Despite their closeness, the Jonases aren’t exactly alike. Kevin, the oldest, is the extrovert, chatting up bus drivers and security guards, crouching on his knees to greet little kids at shows. Middle child Joe, who resembles a prettier version of the actor Peter Gallagher, is the quieter Jonas, with a wild alter ego revealed onstage, where he swivels his hips and twirls a mike stand like a lightsaber. “I’m really inspired by Mick Jagger and Freddie Mercury — the big frontmen,” he says. “I heard Jagger does an hour on a treadmill before every show.”

Nick, by contrast, is the Jonas Brothers’ boss — the spokesman, the best musician, the chief songwriter. It might seem odd for Joe and Kevin to take their lead from their kid brother, but the Jonases don’t see it that way. “Nicholas has always been older than he was,” their father tells me. Despite his heartthrob status, Nick has more Eddie Vedder in him than he does Shaun Cassidy. He says his favorite songs are Elvis Costello’s “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea” and Johnny Cash’s “Give My Love to Rose.”

Nick says he’d like to do a Jonas-Cash tribute album. “We could call it, Jonas Brothers Pay Tribute to the Man in Black,” he says.

Naturally, the Jonases have started to become tabloid targets, and they seem amused by the gossip about their dating life. Lately, Joe’s been fending off the rumor — and by fending off, I mean totally enjoying — that he’s dating country-music chanteuse Taylor Swift, who was spotted in the crowd at the Dallas concert and who will appear in the band’s upcoming 3-D movie. Kevin’s been photographed boating in Miami with a brown-haired knockout named Danielle.
“I get it,” Joe says. “When I was young, I wanted to know what my favorite bands were up to all the time. And it’s funny when there’s a rumor. It’s funny when you find out there are other celebrities with crushes on you, like when I read that Lauren Conrad from The Hills liked me.”

Nick agrees. “The Kim Kardashian rumor [about me] was hilarious,” he says. “I was honored, but I was like, ‘Reggie Bush would kill me!’”

Of course, Nick’s always being dogged by the speculation about his relationship with one particular girl: Miley Cyrus, a.k.a. Hannah Montana, the blue-eyed Disney dynamo who helped break the Jonas Brothers when she brought them onboard her hit TV show and Best of Both Worlds Tour.

“There was a point in our lives when we were very close,” Nick says softly of the Miley rumors. “We were neighbors when we were on tour together. It was good. Just really close. But it would crack me up — I would read these stories online, people saying things that were completely untrue.”

Reading the Nick and Miley gossip, you get the feeling that America is in a rush to anoint a Magic Kingdom Charles and Di. After all, the primary engine behind the Jonas Brothers phenomenon — besides the brothers themselves — is the Walt Disney Company, which has made hundreds of millions of dollars blanketing the American tweenscape with a sun shower of G-rated musical entertainment. With its various subsidiaries — including Disney Channel, Radio Disney and a record company, Hollywood Records, not to mention theme parks and merchandising arms — Disney has built powerhouse 21st-century franchises like High School Musical and Hannah Montana. In an era when music companies have struggled to connect with record buyers, Disney prospered by cultivating a demographic that had been largely ignored. “People don’t think they have much buying power, but they do,” says Disney president Robert Iger. “We decided they should be our core demo.”

The Jonas Brothers, of course, are grateful for the support of Mickey’s white glove. Disney, after all, fished the boys out of the pop-rock abyss and inserted them into the Hannah-verse, exposing them to millions of love-struck consumers (opening for Miley Cyrus in ’07 was kind of like batting in front of Babe Ruth in 1927). But today on their jet, the Jonases want everyone to know that they weren’t cooked up in a Disney laboratory by Mouse-hat-wearing demographers, that they play their own instruments, write their own songs, and that, yes, they are, in fact, brothers.

“People seriously ask us all the time,” Kevin says. “‘Are you guys really brothers?’”

Joe laughs. “It’s like, no, we named our band Jonas Brothers just for fun.”

Read the entire interview in the new issue of Rolling Stone, on stands July 25, 2008.

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