Pop Music Review : Hootie Plays Nice <i> and</i> Safe at the Greek : What’s Not to Like? That’s the Secret of Their Success

Who hates Hootie?

The answer to that Seussian query is, apparently, no one--except perhaps for all the record executives who passed on Hootie & the Blowfish, whose major-label debut album has sold nearly 5 million copies in the year since its release.

Hey, what’s to hate? In fact the South Carolina band’s show Saturday at the Greek Theatre--before an overwhelmingly enthusiastic crowd--was a virtual case study of an absence of detestable traits:

No whining.

No forced cheerfulness.

No rock posturing.

No pop pandering.

No grandstanding.

No disingenuous humility.

OK. That’s what Hootie’s not. What Hootie’s got is harder to finger.

Even rabid fans at the show had a difficult time pinpointing the appeal beyond such vague praises as “I like the sound--kinda blues-based pop” and “the songs make me feel emotions, some happy, others sad.”

Sure, there are the pleasant hooks of the love-song-cum-anthem hits “Hold My Hand” and “I Only Want to Be With You” and the attractive voice of singer Darius Rucker--rougher and more soulful in concert than on the album. The band, too, sounded tougher and fuller, the basic quartet augmented on tour by ex-dB’s keyboardist-guitarist Peter Holsapple (who had the same role on R.E.M.’s 1990 tour), plus an extra percussionist and, on this night, L.A. violinist Lili Haydn.

All well and good, but that doesn’t exactly add up to a Rolling Stones or Nine Inch Nails. eh?

Maybe that’s the point.

After all, when was the last time Mick Jagger or Trent Reznor earnestly told an audience that it was “right courteous” of it to ask him back for an encore--without a trace of condescension or cynicism--as did Hootie guitarist Mark Bryan on Saturday.

In these Nasty ‘90s, nice is, well, nice. And this was a nice show for nice fans by what genuinely appears to be a very nice band.

Often that translated as blandness, with mid-tempo song running into mid-tempo song and stage presence rarely straying beyond general chumminess. For all the media descriptions of Hootie as the ultimate frat-band made good, there was little evidence of the sloppy party ambience implied by the title.

That role fell to the opening act, New Orleans quartet Cowboy Mouth, with maniacal singer-drummer Fred LeBlanc successfully pumping up the crowd with evangelical zeal for, as he put it, “the rapture of rock ‘n’ roll orgasm.”

Yet Hootie, on its own lower-key terms, had its charms. Three well-chosen R&B; covers--”Use Me,” “The Dark End of the Street” and “Mustang Sally”--spiced the pacing, while underscoring the classic-rock foundations the band shares with Counting Crows, another recent act whose popularity has way outstripped its solid but mild attractions.

“Life’s too short to hate each other,” said Rucker on stage, noting the band’s involvement with the Artists for a Hate Free America campaign. “Just drink a beer, be nice and have fun.”

Who’s to argue?