Hootie backlash? Some of us never stopped loving the Blowfish

When I read Dave Holmes’ wonderful piece in “Esquire” on the Hootie and the Blowfish backlash and how we should all make amends for disparaging a great band, I thought it was the greatest thing I’d read in years.

Then it occurred to me: Some of us never stopped loving the South Carolina band, which worked its ass off for years before becoming a sensation in the mid-1990s. 

When Hootie hit the scene at the end of 1994 and beginning of 1995, I was a freshman at Kansas State. My musical interest in those days was heavy on gangsta rap (I still love old school Dre and Snoop), with a little rock (namely U2).

Those who know me will be surprised to hear that I didn’t really care for Hootie and the Blowfish at first. I was skeptical of the name anytime I heard a DJ introduce a song from the band on the radio and would immediately change the channel.

That changed in the summer of 1994, when I returned home from K-State. As I drove from Burlingame to our house in the country with a friend, “Let Her Cry” came on the radio. I reached for the dial when the friend said, “Wait, dude, just listen. I think you’ll like it.”

Reluctantly, I left the radio alone. The next four minutes changed my life. I remember the soulful voice of Darius Rucker singing about lost love, and the catchy rift of guitarist Mark Bryan … I was hooked.

My next purchase was a Hootie cassette, “Cracked Rear View,” an album that ranks among the highest-selling in history 25 years later. I must have listened to that cassette 50,000 times during the next few years.

I also remember the backlash coming rather quickly. “Cracked Rear View” produced four mega-hits: “Let Her Cry,” “Hold My Hand,” “Only Wanna Be With You” and “Time,” all songs you hear on steady rotation on Sirius XM’s 90s on 9.

By 1996 and the release of the band’s follow-up album, “Fairweather Johnson,” many people had heard enough. Though millions of people bought that album, the backlash was underway. The most common complaint: “All their songs sound the same.” 

I think it’s the exact opposite. Most of the songs on “Fairweather Johnson” don’t sound like the first album at all. Listen to “Honeyscrew,” for example, and you’ll actually hear a touch of Stone Temple Pilots, a nod to a “harder” brand of rock.

By 1997, I remember being laughed at when people asked what kind of music I listened to. I didn’t care, of course. Those people didn’t understand how therapeutic it was to drive around with “Let Her Cry” on full blast in the weeks after my first girlfriend broke my heart.

That’s the great thing about music. It takes you away. It helps you grieve. It makes you feel like you’re not alone. And, of course, as the years go by, it takes you back to times when life was much simpler.

Folks continued to laugh through the years when I told them Hootie was my favorite band. Defending them even led to nickname “Hootie” for years with one girlfriend and her family, and even at work.

It was a sad day when the band took a hiatus about a decade ago. Darius Rucker became a country music star, spinning hits like “Wagon Wheel” and “Alright.” After a while, many wondered if the band was gone for good.

Then came the news that Hootie was going on tour and releasing a new album in 2019. My wife and I bought tickets immediately. Naturally, she laughed in 2011 when I told her my favorite band was Hootie and the Blowfish. Several months later, she smiled as I talked about how much it pissed me off when people took shots at the band: “I love that you defend them like you do. It’s part of who you are.”

It will always be a part of who I am. I never stopped loving the band. And I didn’t give a shit who knew it. I still don’t. Long live Hootie.