It’s a good thing the members of Hootie and the Blowfish are such good friends with their opening act, Edwin McCain. Without that solid friendship, there might be some jealousy brewing. (There might be anyhow, who knows?)

The two South Carolina bands brought their southern-fried-yet-tender-in-the-middle rock to a Hilton crowd packed tighter than a box of Q-tips. What better way for summer vacation to see us off than with some mellow blues and jangly guitars? Only free T-shirts could’ve topped the evening, since they cost more than tickets.

Edwin McCain & Co. started things off promptly at 8 p.m., which was too bad for the stragglers. They missed one helluva show. Set against a simple dark blue curtain and bathed in violet light, McCain slid easily into his first number.

Upon introduction to his gritty, soulful voice, one must immediately wonder, “Were he and Darius Rucker [the lead vocalist of Hootie] separated at birth or what?” Except for McCain’s pale skin and long brown hair ruling out the twin possibility, the two sound chillingly familiar. But McCain’s was more raw, kind of sweet with a crunch, like chocolate syrup over crushed nuts.

McCain’s band consisted of himself (beltin’ out the vocals and keeping rhythm on guitar), a bassist, a drummer with an odd set that held the cymbals three feet above his head, and a jack-of-all-trades who mastered the keyboard, saxophone and what looked like a recorder (remember those from school?).

This renaissance man really got to strut his stuff during the second song, “Alive,” which ain’t no Pearl Jam tune. It lacked the definition of a lead guitar, but made up for it with recorder solos that sounded like some sort of soprano owl.

“Jesters, Dreamers and Thieves,” from which the album title, Honor Among Thieves, derives, really got the crowd into a frenzy. The chorus, with short squirts of sax (sounds perverted, no?), invented a new genre of tunes: “domesticated funk.” And where most songs have guitar solos, McCain inserted his own disco-esque twist: a recorder solo.

A barefoot Mark Bryan from Hootie joined in on the mandolin for “Sorry to a Friend,” which could be the college freshman’s anthem: “But we’re not the same people that we were before.”

“Solitude,” a touching, make-ya-wince ode that Edwin penned for a friend after he (the friend) spent two years in a rehab center when he really didn’t need to, followed, with Rucker adding his vocal abilities on the second verse. A recurring theme in McCain’s work seems to be, “Life just ain’t fair.” Sad, but true.

After a 45-minute set, McCain and posse exploded in one last burst of energy, and the house lights came up. Things stayed rather calm until 9:15, when, with absolutely no fuss or announcement, Hilton collapsed into darkness, and the stage flickered. With a simple, “Hello,” Hootie and the Blowfish, after a moment of tuning their instruments, ignited into their first tune.

Wearing jeans, T-shirts and ear-to-ear grins, Hootie could not have been more comfortable on the stage, which was strewn with 13 lava lamps. There was a smooth transition from McCain’s to Rucker’s voice, and the entire floor was standing. I never thought Hootie’ s music was really get-up-and-dance kinda stuff, but who am I to judge?

With very little pomp and circumstance, even fewer chats with the crowd, Hootie ambled through a few songs, most of which are on their forthcoming album due out in March.

It was nice to see a modern, successful band that employs a lead guitarist since the big trend nowadays is to play rhythm throughout, but one thing that left me wondering was the drummer.

He sat upright, expressionless, pounding out the same monotone beat through each and every song. Was he uncomfortable? Constipated? He was a real weak link; it makes me think how fabulous the band would sound with someone creative.

I do have a suggestion, however: the bongo player (who triples as a stage manager and drum technician) would make a wonderful replacement. Keep him on the bongos, drop the drums and Hootie and the Blowfish would have a wonderfully unique, upbeat sound.

Rucker broke with tradition and flung out some banter midway through the set. He remarked about his own freshman orientation back in 1984 and his scamming-on-women plan: “Mark, our guitarist, and I went over to the girls’ dorms and said we were the welcoming committee and helped everyone move in. I got lucky, like, four or five times from that.”

The absolute highlight of the Hootie set came with the next song, when McCain joined in on vocals. He and Bryan proved that white men really can jump when they pounced all over the stage, hair flyin’ and legs flailin’ during an instrumental part. McCain added a lot of energy to an otherwise run-of-the-mill, middle-of-the-tour show.

The night was far from over, however, even after the lights came up and miles of cars edged out of the parking lot. McCain made a special appearance (to which he invited the entire crowd of 11,500) at People’s Bar and Grill after the set.

The line to the bar snaked around the building, and Southern rock pulsed from the inside. McCain still had plenty of energy left for a second show that night, and later, Rucker and Bryan from Hootie joined him on stage. Do these guys ever get tired?