In the old days, television shows were made up of actors reading from scripts, and rock bands were composed of musicians who read music. Not anymore. These days, common folks air their dirty laundry on talk shows, bare their souls on news magazines and marry millionaires on prime time. And any perky teen who can carry a tune is well-poised for a platinum record. Hoping (and likely) to capitalize on the trend toward reality-as-entertainment programming, the folks at ABC are premiering a clever, if slightly creepy, new show on Friday. Billed as MTV's "The Real World" meets The Backstreet Boys, "Making the Band" is a documentary-style series that glares into the lives of eight young men competing against each other for five spots in a new boy band while sharing a snazzy lakeside house in Orlando, Fla.

"It's such a bachelor pad," said Bryan Chan, one-eighth of the equation. "We have such a good time. The only thing is it doesn't have any doors to the bedrooms. It's all curtains because the cameras need to be able to come in and out of the rooms without hassle."

Welcome to the spotlight, 21st century-style. Chan, 25, lived in Santa Barbara and worked as a special events coordinator before he and his seven new roomies were plucked from hundreds of guys at nationwide cattle call auditions held last fall. The ultimate goal is to be chosen as part of a pre-fab boy band called O-Town (in reference to Orlando). The band is the latest undertaking by pop-music impresario Lou Pearlman, the multimillionaire who launched the staggeringly successful careers of the Backstreet Boys and 'N Sync by handpicking the members and giving them vocal coaching, dance lessons and media training.

Since December, Chan and company have spent their days learning five-part harmonies and slick choreography, and their nights bonding in front of the cameras. Viewers will see them get chewed out by coaches, break up with girlfriends and blubber weepy confessions like "I don't want to sell out, man." But in the end, it's really all about who goes home a loser and who goes on to a shot at stardom with O-Town.

"This thing could take off," said Chan. "We could be, like, mega-stars."

In fact, Chan and his co-stars already know who was chosen (the final five are revealed in the last of 13 episodes to run this season). But in order to keep viewers tuned in until June, Chan and his cohorts have been sworn to secrecy about the conclusion. And this guy knows how to keep a secret. During a recent interview at his downtown office, where he stopped in during a short trip home, Chan wouldn't spill the beans on Pearlman's much-anticipated decision. But the friendly Northern California native and UCSB graduate was happy to gab about the process leading up to it, starting with his incredible first audition.

He was in Los Angeles, coordinating a swanky business dinner at the new J. Paul Getty museum. While waiting for copies at a Kinko's, he decided to check out a Web site a friend had told him about. It read "Be a member of the next pop band," and listed an audition taking place in Los Angeles that very day, at that exact time. "At the very end, it said, 'What are you waiting for? Don't you want to be famous?' " Chan said, laughing, "and I was like, 'You're right! I've got to get out of here!' So I bailed."

Chan, who sang with the UCSB Gospel Choir, high-tailed it to the Hard Rock Café and was sent to a waiting area with 20 guys who had already passed one audition and were waiting for a second.

"All of a sudden," he said, "someone says, 'Alright, callbacks, I need you to line up behind this guy,' and points to me!"

A man escorted him to a microphone, and a panel of backlit judges asked what he'd be singing. Chan, who hadn't read the whole Web page and didn't know what was expected of him, launched into "Silent Night." Next, they asked him to sing 'N Sync's "Tearin' Up My Heart," but Chan didn't know the words and had to fake his way through most of it (a humiliating exercise considering Pearlman was among the silhouetted judges).

"I'm thinking, 'Well, Bryan, you might as well not have come, because here you are just destroying this man's creation,' " he said.

Finally, Chan, who dances only occasionally at parties, was required to bust a move on the spot while pop tunes blared through the restaurant's speakers. Much to his shock, the judges asked him to stick around, but he was late for work and had to leave. Still dreaming of fame, though, he flew to the next O-Town tryout in Las Vegas three days later, and was chosen as one of 25 finalists from across the country.

A month later, the finalists were flown to Orlando for further voice and dance tests and Chan made the cut along with seven others: Trevor Penick,19, of Fullerton; Jacob Underwood, 19, of San Diego; Ashley Angel, 18, of Redding; Ikaika Kahoano, 21, of Honolulu, Hawaii; Robert Paul Martin, 21, of Clinton, Miss.; Michael Miller, 19, of Coral Springs, Fla.; and Erik-Michael Estrada, 20, of Palm Bay, Fla. They moved into a stunning three-bedroom home and began their regimen. Six days a week, they hit the studio by 10 a.m. for four hours of vocal coaching followed by a lunch break and three hours of choreography.

"It's hard," Chan said. "You get home at the end of the day and you're beat, but you can't help but enjoy it. For all of us, this has been our dream."

In the studio, Chan learned to sing with precision, blend with other voices and boogie like Britney Spears. At home, he figured out how to get along with seven very different personalities.

"There's definitely been rifts," Chan said. "It took a while for us to kind of get used to everybody's quirks."

Angel is the sleepyhead romantic, Miller's the phone-hogging socialite, Martin's the party animal, Kahoano's the island fish out of water and Chan's the voice of reason.

"I think naturally, because I'm the oldest, I'm like the big brother," said Chan. "I don't necessarily want to always be the downer at the party, but I feel that I have to, like 'Alright, guys, I don't think we should do this because we've got rehearsal in an hour and we're going to be late.' "

Chan is the only one with a serious job back home, and though he is on a leave of absence, he checks in with his company when he can.

"I know how important it is professionally to be on time and pay attention, whereas these guys, it's all very new to them."

But some aspects of the experience are new to Chan, too, like the fishbowl existence of living life on camera. If he goes to the market, cameras follow him down grocery aisles while other shoppers stare in bewilderment. Plus, he has to look the part.

"We're supposed to shave every day and we can't go out with our clothes wrinkled," Chan said. "You're going to be a role model and you can't just go out looking like a scrub all the time."

Back at home, though, he's not as careful to keep up appearances, as viewers will see.

"I have the worst hair," said Chan, who likes to shower at night. "When I go to bed and it dries, it's about three inches in every direction, and (the cameras) come in while you're sleeping. I know I look pretty disgusting."

He has been captured on tape gargling, spitting and sweating.

"We get out of rehearsal," he said, "and you're soaked and they're all up in your grill, and you're like, 'Oh, God, sorry Mom!' "

Chan's Filipino mother and Chinese-Irish father have been good sports about the project, even when camera crews unexpectedly followed him home to Pleasanton for Christmas and invaded Grandma's house with boom microphones. They understand that fame has a price. Then again, most celebrities don't endure such public scrutiny until after they become famous.

"Take a group you really like, and think about how well you really know them," Chan said. "When you see them, they've got makeup, they've got lights and they're warmed up. Our fans are going to see us for who we are and learn about us as people first before we even get to cut a record."

Critics have accused Pearlman of running a bubble gum factory, denouncing him for testing bands' songs and looks with market research.

"Some people probably would look at this process as questionable," Chan said. "He takes these people, he churns them through his boot camp and spits them out."

Both the Backstreet Boys and 'N Sync have filed (and settled) lawsuits against Pearlman for allegedly cheating them out of money, a fact that his O-Town candidates could not ignore.

"It made us pay really careful attention to what we were getting into, and to question everything," said Chan, but he has no complaints about the arrangement so far. "We've been given a very good opportunity and we're being treated very well. He's getting out of it what he wants and we're getting out of it what we want."

Chan believes Pearlman has the magic formula for making huge stars out of regular Joes.

"He seems to know what works and doesn't work," he said. "I think it's a look, I think it's talent, I think it's your personality."

If Pearlman says Chan has the right combination, he'll gladly give up his job and his local apartment to cut records, make videos, perform live and break pre-teen hearts.

"If I don't make it, it would be a complete disappointment," he said, "but hopefully something else might come out of the experience. I would love to have a talk show!"