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Hootie has become a kind of rock-'n'-roll Rorschach test for fans and detractors alike. Fans often see them as a shiny, happy people band, a safe band, an integrated group of nice boys who play golf--a comfortingly Eurocentric sport--and who specialize in songs that are tuneful and direct, such as their irresistible sing-along hit Hold My Hand; indeed, the band's cheeky but wholesome appeal is not dissimilar to the early, hand-holding Beatles'. Detractors basically agree with this characterization. But they find the straightforward, seemingly optimistic nature of the band's music profoundly, aggressively boring and see the group's goofy, Dan Marino-in-a-cameo videos as shamelessly unironic throwbacks to the don't-worry-be-happy aesthetic of the '80s. Matters won't be helped any by the new album's packaging, which includes an order form for merchandise like Hootie golf balls and beer cozies.
The band sometimes takes the criticism hard. "I've always wanted Dean to be in Bass Player magazine," says Rucker, who is great friends with Hootie's bassist and shares a house with him. "But he showed me this article the other day in that magazine where this guy does this whole Toad the Wet Sprocket review, and at the end he says the only drawback with Toad is that they toured with the worst band in the world--Hootie & the Blowfish. I mean, why do you have to go out of your way to bash us? I honestly believe that if we had sold 100,000 records, people would have nice things to say about us. At the beginning of the record there were nice reviews ... and all of a sudden--BOOM!--we're the worst band in the world."
Hootie's music is actually rooted in more sadness and struggle than the band's detractors are willing to admit and fans are prepared to accept. Three of the band members come from comfortably middle-class upbringings--Felber and Bryan grew up in Gaithersburg, Maryland, and Sonefeld hails from the cozy Chicago suburb of Napersville, Illinois. Rucker's upbringing in Charleston, South Carolina, however, was poorer and harder. His mother was a nurse and his father was "never there"; money was tight and times were hard. "The only time I really dealt with my dad was Sunday morning before we went to church when he sang with a band," Rucker says, recalling his childhood. "I think they were called the Rolling Stones, believe it or not. They were a gospel group." Rucker will tell anyone who asks that his childhood was happy, but reveals his concealed resentment toward his father in a song called Where Were You, released only in Europe (where Rucker says he figured his dad would never hear it). "Where were you when I needed a friend?/ Where were you when I kissed my very first girl?" he sings to his absentee father. "Go away/ Mama didn't want you/ So I don't need you."