Mark Dorshak, my guitarist and producer who whom I’m finally finishing the Angels Don’t Really Fly EP, came down with a case of day job and can’t play Hell’s Kitchen. Damn. His solos would’ve greatly helped on the 3-hour gig. Instead, I’ve got to add a half dozen songs or so. In seven days. Oh, joy. I do, however, split the money one way.
Y’ do what has to get done. Hell, for our two dates at Corner Coffee, there was plenty scrambling for material, including help from my old producer Barry Knoedl at Beat Bad Records. Through the marvel of e-mail, Barry sent a bunch of chords from songs I’ve forgotten. Needless to say, I am going to hope and pray he can come through again.
None of that is as bothersome as the lack of folk who showed for the second Corner Coffee show. I mean, I knew there’d be a drop off in attendance, but this was pitiful. I’m making a list of all my friends and associates who swore they’d put it on their calendar (y’all know who you is) and come down, but flaked on me. Going around to each of their houses and shoot their dog. If they don’t have a dog, I’ll get ’em one and then shoot it.
On the upside, it was gratifying to spend less than five years between engagements. And sparse crowd or no, me and Mark were well received. By—ahem—Natalie Johnson Lee, Travis Lee (who shot a gang of photos), Chris Shillock, and Mahmoud El-Kati.
So, next is Hell’s Kitchen. Attendance defintely shouldn’t be a problem. I used to wonder why the streets of Minneapolis are always so deserted on Saturdays. I found out. Everybody’s over at Hell’s Kitchen having breakfast and lunch.
Singer-songwriter Dwight Hobbes sans Mark Dorshak at Hell’s Kitchen, October 16: Hell’s Kitchen, 80 9th St. S. in downtown Minneapolis, 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., No cover, all ages.