My lover hates Roy Clark but hasn't heard of Sufjan Stevens

My composition of song, for you, has been rejected, not because the sentiments were bad, or the structure of verse and chorus, but that I played the chords on a banjo when I should have used a guitar. You say the banjo

is a trite, hee-hawed thing, for barefoot, hick-town loafers with dangling straw between their teeth. I’d like to change the words, dedicate it to another, one who doesn’t ridicule the music of the mountain, one who’d know its origins, before Burl Ives’ arrival. Bania, in the Mandingo tongue, from the minstrels of the African west, whose moonlight lovers never shunned their poignant serenades.

Andreas Gripp

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