Getting down with Dondero

During the four hours that led up to Dondero’s performance (more on that later) he chatted with many of the patrons. The conversations I had with him found us discussing stuff like credit-card problems, bad debt and when it’s time to file for bankruptcy. Turns out Dondero, despite being a lauded tunesmith who has been recording for venerable indie labels for the past decade, still makes the kind of money earned by alt-weekly journalists, school teachers and restaurant servers — basically, the same kind of people who attended his show Saturday.

“I don’t have anything that’s worth anything,” Dondero admitted. “I own one guitar. That’s it.”

Whereas his studio work benefits from spot-on trumpet or banjo, Dondero performed with just his voice and an acoustic guitar on Saturday. And while he’s no virtuoso ax man, his use of reverb effects nicely augmented his Dylan-esque (think “Visions of Johanna,” “Desolation Row”) ballads. Speaking of Dylan, both he and Dondero were born in Duluth, Minn. Dondero told me this before during a relaxed conversation before his show.

During his set, some members of the audience sat around the stage area mouthing the words. What distinguishes Dondero from other singer/songwriters is that his tunes take you somewhere — but not in a pedestrian, travelogue sense. They’re stories that are moving and often fascinating, riddled with pop-culture references and feelings ranging from despair to hope.

Dondero’s not a nihilist. His subject matter is often bleak, but there’s always that promise of rebirth. “I know it will get better with a brand new time zone,” he sings on the number “Leave the Drivin’ to Them.”

Unfortunately, Dondero didn’t get to perform until 1:15 a.m. By then, several people I had spoken with who had planned to stay for his set had the hit the wall and gone home. In fact, the crowd had noticeably thinned by 2 a.m., at which point Dondero was only about three-quarters through his show.

It was closing time when he finished. Employees were shooing patrons out the door during a period typically allotted for discussing the night’s entertainment.

I’d love to get some feedback on this: Is there really a need to have the headliner go on later than, say, 11 p.m.? After all, the Velvet Revolver/Alice in Chains show that took place the same night at Ford Amphitheatre ended by 11:30.