August 16th, 2024 – It was a muggy August night, the kind that sticks to your skin and makes the Delaware River glisten like it’s harboring secrets. Freedom Mortgage Pavilion in Camden—just across the river from the city of brotherly love, but a world apart in vibe. I arrived early, armed with nothing but a Hazy IPA and a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, Hootie and the Blowfish still had the magic.
Camden, man. This place—there’s a certain grit to it, like you can feel the echoes of Springsteen’s desperate characters, still hanging around the waterfront, clinging to the last vestiges of the American dream. But tonight wasn’t about dreams deferred. No, tonight was about reliving the late ’90s, when Hootie ruled the airwaves, and everything felt just a little bit lighter.
Photos + Article by @a.j.kinney
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the pavilion filled up with a mixed bag of fans—middle-aged folks who’d brought their kids along for a glimpse of nostalgia, millennials who probably first heard “Only Wanna Be with You” in the backseat of their parents’ cars, and a smattering of younger faces, curious about what the fuss was all about.
The lights dimmed, the crowd buzzed with the kind of anticipation that only comes when you’re about to see a band that somehow, inexplicably, still means something to you. And then, like a flashback from an old mixtape, Darius Rucker and the boys strolled out onto the stage. No pomp, no circumstance—just a group of guys who looked like they’d been doing this forever. Which, of course, they have.
They kicked things off with a 54-40 cover of “I Go Blind,” and the crowd erupted. There’s something about that jangly guitar, Rucker’s deep, rich voice, and the easy groove of the rhythm section that hits you right in the chest. It was like stepping into a time machine—suddenly, it was 1995 again, and we were all a little younger, a little less jaded.
Rucker was in fine form, his voice as smooth and soulful as ever. He’s got this way of making you feel like he’s singing just to you, like he’s the only one who gets it. And the band—well, they were tighter than a snare drum. You could tell they’d been playing these songs for decades, but there was no phoning it in. Every note, every chord change, every harmony was delivered with the kind of precision that only comes from years of playing together.
But this wasn’t just a nostalgia trip. Sure, the hits were there—”Hold My Hand,” “Let Her Cry,” and the inevitable sing-along to “Only Wanna Be with You.” But the band also threw in a few surprises— including a plethora of covers; of REM’s “Losing My Religion” and a fiery rendition of Buffalo Springfield’s “For What It’s Worth” that felt like a nod to the Jersey crowd. And then there were the deeper cuts, the songs that only the die-hards knew, like “I Will Wait” and “Not Even the Trees.”
The crowd, for their part, was all in. There was no irony here, no detached hipster cool. This was pure, unfiltered joy. People were dancing like nobody was watching, singing along to every word, and just reveling in the simple pleasure of a great band playing great songs. I found myself grinning like an idiot, swaying to the music with a drink in hand, letting the night wash over me.
By the time the encore rolled around—a rowdy version of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” followed by a cover of Stone Temple Pilot’s “Interstate Love Song” that damn near brought the house down—the air was electric. This was a communion, a celebration of everything Hootie and the Blowfish represented—friendship, love, and the power of music to take you back to a time when things were just a little bit easier.
As I stumbled out of the pavilion, drunk on nostalgia, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been part of something special. Camden might be rough around the edges, but tonight, it was the perfect backdrop for a trip down memory lane. Hootie and the Blowfish may not be the coolest band in the world, but damn if they don’t know how to put on a show. And on this hot August night, that was more than enough.
