Let them hear Cake

Warning. This article is taking the long way home.

I’m listening to a book. When this article posts, I’ll have finished it. It expires on the 22nd of September, so time is ticking like a sold soul’s watch expiring at midnight. By all accounts, this is a beloved book—this bestseller. Several agents I’ve researched or queried include it on their manuscript wish lists, and like so many books these days, it has been optioned for film or television adaptation. Author goals.

For those outside the book world’s benefit, which right now, with my limited reach, is everyone but my pal Amanda, a manuscript wish list is pretty much what it sounds like. Agent A represents genre B and wants manuscripts that have the qualities of book C. Sometimes, more than the qualities. Retellings are sought after.

The bestseller is infuriating. There is an enormous plot hole that leaves me undecided about where I fall on the love/hate sliding scale. The protagonist is dirty dancing with the devil, whom she repeatedly calls the green-eyed darkness. And while the writing is vivid and colorful, the language is repetitive. In more than one chapter, a character has sighed or exclaimed or muttered, “Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.”

And … my lyrical brain says, “Ooh! Cake!” And it pulls me out of the story and right into Pandora.

“Who is Cake?” Asks my dad. (Shout out to my biggest supporter.) ❤️

Cake is the band I’ve used as an example of how Gettie, the main character of my two manuscripts, can know a band’s music but have no earthly clue what any members look like. That’s my story’s meet-cute. She knows the dude seated next to her in first class is somebody, but not what profession makes him so or who he is. John McCrea, Xan McCurdy, Daniel McCallum, Vince DiFiore, and Todd Roper could all be the green-eyed darkness or the Mustache Man, and I’d have no clue. They could also be the law firm of McCrea-McCurdy-McCallum, DiFiore, and Roper. It’s just that easy. (Snaps fingers.) You turn the screws. (Points at the camera.)

For Dad’s benefit and anyone unfamiliar, Cake is a quirky band with an unusual sound. They are all things, incorporating many genres, and punctuated by droll and deadpan singing, sarcastic lyrics, and a fabulous trumpet. Oh, and let’s not leave out their frequent use of the vibraslap. Are they rock? Country? Funk? Hip hop? Mariachi? Yes. All of that, going the distance in a short skirt and a long jacket. They’re weird and brilliant.

I own the first five Cake albums and can sing, if that’s the correct term, in part to nearly every song on each one. Yet, I have no clue what the fellas look like. While scrunching curls and getting ready for work, Pandora graced me with some Cake for breakfast. And it struck me how the song parallels my querying journey.

After writing two manuscripts where the male main character is one-fifth of a rock band, I learned, to my chagrin, that few agents are looking for stories that have anything to do with music. Great. Even a whiff is a tough sell. Why? Because sad songs and waltzes aren’t selling this year. And haven’t for a few years.

Romance tropes that do sell? Hockey. Formula 1. RPGs. (That’s role-playing games, Dad, not rocket-propelled grenades.) Dramoine fan fic. Look that last one up. I couldn’t make that shit up if I tried. But rock ‘n’ roll themes are cake by the ocean. Precarious. Or a recipe in need of a dash of K-Pop Demon Hunters. Yes. Many agents have this on their manuscript wish lists.

Romantasy is very popular. Twenty-something women are driving the market, often through social media. Another factor potentially plaguing the sad songs and waltzes? My characters are dinosaurs. Not literally, although that might help. To Gen Z, humans aged 38 and 50 are ancient, with practically a foot in the grave. If my older Millennial and Gen X sisters want to see themselves reflected in modern stories without being the spinster or the crone, imparting sage wisdom to the doe-eyed adolescents, money needs to be plunked down. In the grand scheme of what $13 could be wasted on, books are relatively cheap. Four gas station coffees, that fast fashion shirt that will look like ass after one washing, or a tempting item from the As Seen on TV isle at Menards all equal a paperback.

Other genres exploding on BookTok and bookshelves (without middle-aged protagonists) are stories blending horror and romance. All things dark. Like borderline criminal acts disguised as love, dark. Necromancers, cannibals, and Dramoine. And not surprising. The world has gone batshit. School shootings are mainstream and produce less outrage than assassinations of right-wingers and healthcare CEOs. Talk shows are canceled because hosts are using their words. ICE is practically the Gestapo with a rebrand and less snappy uniforms. People have lost their minds over Sydney Sweeney having good jeans and Cracker Barrel retiring their cracker. And our highest political leader once mused about injecting disinfectant to kill the coronavirus, the vaccine for which has limited approvals to receive. Art reacts to the times as either a reflection or an escape.

And sheep go to heaven. Goats go to hell. But which is which and who is who? And how am I supposed to feel about the bestseller with the huge plot hole? These things will remain unanswered. But I’ll end by answering the now-burning question: what songs feature the vibraslap?

“Short Skirt/Long Jacket” (Cake)

“Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps” (Cake)

“Never There” (Cake)

“Sweet Emotion” (Aerosmith)

“Crazy Train” (Ozzy Osbourne) Rest in peace. 🪽

“Nuthin’ But a ‘G Thang” (Dr. Dre)

“All Along the Watchtower” (Jimi Hendrix)

“Mexican Radio” (Wall of Voodoo)

“Orange Crush” (R.E.M.)

“Green Tambourine” (The Lemon Pipers)

“Rattlesnake” (King Gizzard and The Lizard Wizards) (A song that has no business being seven and a half minutes long.)

Shout out songs I missed, featuring the vibraslap.