There’s a reason Hootie and Blowfish’s first album, “Cracked Rear View,” was their shining moment. When it came out, it was a brilliant light in sea of gloom.

In a time of flannel-clad teens moping nearly unconscious to lyrics of life’s serious pains, Hootie’s charming cuteness became a return to believing life can be fun.

The band stood out like a soar thumb. This made them a beacon beckoning the nation to avert its ears from depression — and it did. When it was said and done, “Cracked Rear View” was the 12th-best selling album of all time.

Unfortunately, the wave crested there. Every album since has been a carbon copy of the first. While their music was unique for that moment, the band seemed to lack diversity and adaptability. Soon they faded into the vast background noise of one-album wonders.

This was the backdrop going into the Pabst Theater on Nov. 2 to see Hootie and the Blowfish. They were touring for their latest album, “Looking for Lucky.”

It was clear the audience had just time-warped from 1994. The average age seemed to be 34 or 37. They entered the theater eagerly, tugging on one another with glee and smiling with an undying appreciation for these forgotten gods.

Being in sixth grade in 1994, I could only recall that these guys were bigger than Jesus for a fraction of time. Now, I had no idea until the concert day that they’d even put out a new album this summer.

The last thing Hootie’s guitarist, Mark Bryan, told me in my phone interview with him was, “Expect rocking energy at the Pabst.”

When the lights went down, I could feel the aging crowd digging deep for the energy once abundant to them. I leaned against a wall with peaked interest. Curiosity more than enthusiasm consumed me. This was more like a visit to the museum for me.

When the concert started I thought it was one of their popular songs at first. Cheers were drown out by Darius Ruckers’ recognizable voice. As I stood trying to figure out if I knew the song or not, I realized a lot of their music sounds the same.

The guitar cords are the kind that a novice player would use to familiarize himself with their concept. The lyrics were to the point and easy to understand on all levels. Everything about the band seemed easy, and non-abrasive. It was this cuddly factor that probably drove them into the ground.

The crowd disappointed me. I figured a chance to see their one-time iconic figures so closely would drive them to untamed dancing. Instead, I saw middle-aged bald/balding heads bobbing up and down while their wives let their hips swivel conservatively.

I looked to the performers for a little “energy” only to see Ruckers’ face pasted to the microphone, making him look statuesque. Bryan hopped from time to time when striking a cord, but it seemed rehearsed. A strange man in a wool cap sauntered behind the two with a guitar, never letting his gaze or movements reveal vital signs.

The concert chugged along like this. Songs coming on that could be discernable as other songs, and not being sure which you just heard. Looking to the band and crowd for signals as to if this is a popular song left you merely checking your pulse.

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