Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

This is wildly OT and applies to more than romance novels, but it’s something that’s been stuck in my head a while, so here goes:

It kind of bugs me that a lot of authors, especially authors of genre fiction, get the diminutive forms of foreign names wrong or completely ass-fucking-backwards.

This train of thought got kick-started when some co-workers and I engaged in a conversation about my Chinese name.

This week’s cover snark was brought to you by this year’s RITA nominees. Quality romance != quality covers, as many authors can probably attest to (poor Loretta Chase--will she ever catch a break, or does God really hate her so much that she’s forever doomed to hideous covers featuring dudes with greasy perms and/or jaundice?). So, congratulations to the nominees, and also best of luck--especially with the art department.

Candy: The Secret Wife hands the (no doubt) Even More Secret Baby to Gunther the bodyguard so he can exterminate the last of the evidence of her drunken Cabo weekend.

Sarah:

Dude. Isn’t that the bald guy from Night Court? You never know WHO is going to turn up as a cover model next!

And why is there a car driving into his crotch?

Candy: HAY GUYS! THIS BOOK IS LIKE OMGHOT LIKE REALLY FOR REALZ HOT! EVEN THOUGH THE GUY LOOKS LIKE A BLIND DATE REJECT BUT U NO HES HOT COZ LOOK AT ALL THOSE HOT CHICS STANDING AROUND HIM.

Sarah: Here at SBTB we present the following ironclad rule: “If you have to use an exclamation point to assert the hotness of your hero, there is no way said hero will be remotely hot on the cover of your novel. Instead, your hero will look like a meth-addled Joey Lawrence.”

Whoa.

Candy: OK, I know the guy is supposed to be putting his hands up in surrender, but from this angle, it looks like he’s excited. “Ooooh, ooooh, Sharon Stone is shooting me with a red laser! How veddy, veddy exciting! I can’t wait to tell Mumsy about this, she will just die!”

Sarah: Either he’s running to Mumsy, or he’s gyrating his hips like those guys in the Nextel commercial and she’s so pissed about his poor dancing skills that she’s going to shoot off his schmeckie and see how well he dances now, huh, punk?!

I’ve pimped John Vanderslice to assorted people with varying success, but I saw him last night at the Doug Fir here in Portland, and HOLY SHIT, he’s good. It was the first show of his that I’d gone to, and it certainly won’t be the last; the music was gorgeous, there was some very witty repartee and much hilarity was had with a recorded horn riff sample.

I also realized I’ve become the kind of fan who sings along to every song--and does it noticeably enough that somebody comes up to me after the show and remarks on it. *headdesk*

Anyway. Please give John Vanderslice a chance. The instrumentation on his music is gorgeous, the songs beautifully and cleverly crafted, and I’m pretty sure they’ll cure cancer while giving you really, really good head. Or something. If you’re curious about what genre he falls under, I guess indie-folk-electro-rock might come close, but he’s that rarest of beasts: he really doesn’t sound like anyone or anything else out there. He has loads of nifty MP3s you can download from his website, so try before you buy, etc. All his albums are good, but my three favorites are Time Travel is Lonely, Life and Death of an American Four-Tracker and Cellar Door.

One of his opening bands, Crystal Skulls, is also amaza-crazy good. So good that the friend I went to the show with bellied up to the merch counter after the concert and bought their latest release. Their music is pretty and jangly and clever, with just the right touch of retro pop, the lead singer kinda looks like a younger, hotter and not-so-much-with-the-Parkinson’s version of Michael J. Fox, and the drummer and bassist make the most hilarious faces at each other while they play (they goofed around so much, the drummer almost fell off his seat; he bounced around quite adorably while trying to maintain his balance, all without missing a beat). What’s not to love? They’re playing two more shows this year in Portland, and I’m pretty freakin’ excited.

And speaking of opening bands, I saw Rogue Wave open for Nada Surf a few months ago, and I was very impressed. I finally got around to getting their debut, Out of the Shadow, last week, and I really, really like it. If The Flaming Lips made sweet, sweet love to the ghost of Elliot Smith while wearing Simon and Garfunkel drag, the bastard child of that beautiful union might make music that comes close to what Rogue Wave sound like. I can’t wait to get my mitts on their next album, Descended Like Vultures.

In summary: please give these bands a chance and throw some money their way, either by getting their CDs or checking out their live shows should you be lucky enough to be graced with their presence. I won’t say you won’t regret it, because for all I know you might have appalling taste, but if you like indie-ish rock/pop, there’s a better-than-average chance you’ll like these guys.

Sara proved her mettle by correctly guessing the answer to this week’s personal ad contest, and as a consequence, has been found worthy of bearing one of our 100% organic and Free Trade Certified Smart Bitch aristocratic titles.

Kneel, Sara, for we now dub thee:

Title, author, and
heroine’s name? Oh, goody!
a Smart Bitch title™!

It’s not quite a romance, but it’s close.

Single psychic barmaid seeks pale, thin, thirsty and enigmatic hero to come in, order what we don’t have in stock yet, and involve me in some crazy crap with your friends. I’d be most pleased if you kept your thoughts to yourself, or just didn’t have any that were audible to me. Special consideration paid to men whose essence can give me some seriously super strength and a wicked good hair day.