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As an aside, remember that the music used in the Star Spangled Banner was a “pop” tune, a drinking song, written about 43 years before.

“The Anacreontic Song”, also known by its incipit “To Anacreon in Heaven”, was the official song of the Anacreontic Society, an 18th-century gentlemen’s club of amateur musicians in London. Attributed to the composer John Stafford Smith, the tune later had Francis Scott Key’s poem Defence of Fort McHenry set to it. The combination became known as The Star Spangled Banner and was adopted as the national anthem of the United States in 1931.”

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To Anacreon, in Heav’n, where he sat in full glee,
A few sons of harmony sent a petition,
That he their inspirer and patron would be;
When this answer arrived from the jolly old Grecian —
Voice, fiddle and flute,
No longer be mute.
I’ll lend ye my name, and inspire ye to boot...
And, besides, I’ll instruct ye, like me, to entwine,
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

The news through Olympus immediately flew;
Where Old Thunder pretended to give himself airs —
If these mortals are suffer’d their scheme to pursue,
There’s devil a goddess will stay above stairs.
Hark! already they cry,
In transports of joy.
A fig for Parnassus! to Rowley’s we’ll fly;
And there, my good fellows, we’ll learn to entwine,
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

The yellow-hair’d god, and his nine fusty maids,
To the hill of old Lud will incontinent flee.
Idalia will boast but of tenantless shades,
And the biforked hill a mere desert will be.
My thunder, no fear on’t,
Will soon do its errand,
And dam’me! I’ll swinge the ringleaders, I warrant.
I’ll trim the young dogs, for thus daring to twine,
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

Apollo rose up; and said, Pr’ythee ne’er quarrel,
Good king of the gods, with my vot’ries below!
Your thunder is useless — then, shewing his laurel,
Cry’d, _Sic evitabile fulmen_, you know!
Then over each head
My laurels I’ll spread;
So my sons from your crackers no mischief shall dread,
Whilst snug in their club-room, they jovially twine,
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

Next Momus got up, with his risible phiz;
And swore with Apollo he’d cheerfully join —
The full tide of harmony still shall be his,
But the song, and the catch, and the laugh shall be mine;
Then, Jove, be not jealous
Of these honest fellows.
Cry’d Jove, We relent, since the truth you now tell us;
And swear, by Old Styx, that they long shall entwine,
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.

Ye sons of Anacreon, then, join hand in hand;
Preserve unanimity, friends and love.
‘Tis your’s to support what’s so happily plan’d;
You’ve the sanction of gods, and the fiat of Jove.
While thus we agree,
Our toast let it be.
May our club flourish happy, united and free!
And long may the sons of Anacreon entwine,
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.