This Week for Happy Hour: Hold My Prescription Arthritis Medicine

Hello my babies,

A brief word: as you read this week's entry, please remember that I love you all.  If you feel your sphincter start to clench, I suggest you have a cocktail and take it down a notch.  Ok, here we go:


In the great historical tradition of one-named highly influential cultural leaders such as Madonna (either the Holy Mother or the Lucky Star music slut), Prince (Machiavelli or Purple Rain music slut), Caesar (latently homosexual dog whisperer or Roman Head of NAMBLA), Jesus (Christ or approximately one out of every three Hispanic-born baby boys), and Oz (note to self: Oz is due for an encore – or was it that prison show with loads of forced sodomy which soured that particular proper noun?  Yeah, I guess so), emerged what has undoubtedly become the most dynamic and preeminent multiracial Southern soft rock band of our time, or of any time or place in our Universe.  Of that, I am confident.

Who am I talking about?  You don’t really have to ask, do you?  You already know deep down.  Search your feelings, young Happy Hour Padawan.  Yes, that’s it.  I’m talking about the one and only Hootie and the Blowfish – the musical juggernaut of the mid to late 90’s that took the world by storm.  Well, maybe storm isn’t the best word to describe their modest, good-timey sound.  But you know, they took the world by, let’s say, a nice cool breeze.  Hootie totally took the world by a nice cool breeze. 

And so this Friday, May 13^th is indeed a momentous occasion.  Not only is it Friday the 13^th, an already crazy day when nightmares come true and creepy acid-faced guys in striped sweaters outshine Johnny Depp at the box office.  But on TOP of that, the man behind the man in front of the Blowfish – Hootie himself, one Darius Rucker – turns the beige age of 45.

Come wish the soft rock icon a very Happy Birthday at Rhino Bar’s Happy Hour, this Friday from 5-9 PM.  Drinks are half-price, and we can all hold hands and sing songs from (this is actually serious) the 16x Platinum record, Cracked Rear View.  You remember the hits like, “Only Wanna Be with You,” “Let Her Cry,” and of course, “Hold My Hand.”  These are among the guiltiest of the musical guilty pleasures, but at the same time, they’re irresistible.  And we all owe it to the man who made us smile and hum with such satisfying regret over the last 15 years.

Granted, Hootie is starting to get a little older.  Remember that he might actually mean it these days when he says, “Hold My Hand.”  He may not be singing.  He may be urgently in need of balance assistance, maybe getting down a flight of slippery stairs.  Seriously, hold his hand.  He’s unstable.  And nobody wants to have to yell, “Hootieee!” in a moment of fright and concern.  Nobody.  Not ever.  In fact, this is the only instance where you may freely laugh at an old man falling on stairs:

Which brings me to my next point: if you were going to pick a stage name, why would you go with “Hootie?”  I mean, those other famous people went grandiose, but not Hootie.  So what’s up with Hootie?  Hmm?

Supposedly, the name Hootie doesn’t actually refer to Darius Rucker.  Supposedly, Hootie was some classmate of Darius in South Carolina.  This weird little guy, allegedly, looked like a cross between a hoot owl and a blowfish (thick glasses and chubby cheeks?), and thusly was born the band’s name.  Allegedly.

No way.

But you know and I know that this is a bunch of goddam rubbish.  There’s this rule in rock and roll, I’ll tell you about.  It’s called the Huey Lewis and the News Rule.  This Rule clearly states that when a band presents its name in this format, the band must indicate first the name of the front man (Huey Lewis/Hootie), and then lump the rest of the band members together with some random plural noun (the News/the Blowfish) in order to grammatically imply their inferiority to the only band member whose name actually matters.  I’m not saying it’s fair.  I’m just explaining the Rule. 

So, therefore, whether Darius Rucker likes it or not, he is Hootie.  And the other guys are most certainly the Blowfish.  Now, do yourself a favor and save your pity for something worthy.  Hold out for your next ASPCA commercial or something.  And here’s why: Darius/Hootie, as the band’s singer/rhythm guitarist/front man, knew exactly what he was doing when he agreed to this band name.  He’s in rock and roll.  He knew the Rule.  And he willfully accepted the title of Hootie.  To be sure, it was no accident. 

Though I wonder if, like the original Jesus and Madonna, he didn’t accept the title of Hootie with some reluctance.  I bet somebody had to press it on him a little.  Like Bruce Dickinson with Blue Oyster Cult’s prominent use of the cowbell in “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”  Darius was like, “I don’t know…  Hootie?”  And somebody said to Darius, “I’m telling you, people are gonna love this Hootie thing.  It’s magic, baby.”  I would hypothesize further, but I have a crippling fear of Christopher Walken and don’t need those nightmares between now and this Friday the 13^th.

He could make you burst into flames.

Hope to see everybody there for Hootie’s 45^th!  Half-priced everything.  JW Blue is now $10 during Friday Happy Hour only.  Scroners abound.

Cheers,

Finnegan

P.S.  This week the blog could have its 1,000^th visitor.  If it’s you, print out the screenshot, bring it in, and trade it for $10 in already half-priced drinks during Happy Hour, 5-9 on Friday.  Hey, that’s like a free gallon of gas, or 10 Hootie and the Blowfish songs on iTunes, or a free two hour booze buzz rental.  Don’t say I never gave ya nuthin.