AMERICA may have repelled the Britpop invasion, but it seems that nothing can stop the inexorable march of "Hootie rock" onto our shores.
Last night at the RDS Main Hall, America's Most Nondescript Band gave its Irish audience an object lesson in normality, plodding out its generic brand of alternative country rock and proving that when it comes to good, old fashioned popular appeal, less interesting is better.
US critics have lambasted British bands such as Oasis for being boring and one dimensional, yet such bands as Hootie & The Blowfish can flounder in the shallow rockpools of AOR and be overwhelmed by a veritable tidal wave of praise.
Hootie & The Blowfish have been rewarded for their utter lack of excitement with two Gram my awards and sales of millions of albums, but anyone looking for some cutting edge US rock at the RDS had to settle for a stultifyingly straight faced set of midtempo anthems and sub r & b country feedback.
The band from South Carolina made no bones about its musical debt to Georgian neighbours R.E.M., even utilising the talents of Peter Holsapple, who toured with Stipe & Co in what must have been more musically memorable times. Unfortunately, they've also cited gnarly old country cowpoke Charlie Daniels as a hero, which kind of throws the cred into the cowpat.
Hootie's dusty, down home tunes somehow don't manage to stick in the memory, and each song studiously avoids notice by sticking to a lumpen formula which mixes strumming acoustic guitars, plinking mandolins, twiddly lead lines and a solid, stoic drumbeat.
However, despite the musical attempts to blend into the background, the crowd easily spotted such favourites as Old Man And Me, Let Her Cry and Time. But though they clapped along happily to the hits, there was little evidence of a real rock'n'roll vibe in the air.
This was Pearl Jam without the punk attitude, R.E.M. without the sense of adventure, and it was as safe and sanitised - as pasteurised milk.
Lead singer Darius Rucker has been praised for his big, bluesy voice, but Hootie's music has washed out all the passion and pain which could have made it sound more soulful.
Guitarist Mark Bryan seems to be suffering from the delusion that he's in The Who circa 1972. But though he flails his arms a la Townshend, the moshpit below him remains relatively calm.
If this was the so called "revenge of the normal", then it was a prosaic, protracted retribution indeed.