Early in the COVID pandemic, my younger daughter and I worked on a project together: We'd choose a flower, and she would read about it in her nature guide. She'd write a few sentences about it, and I'd draw a picture.
One day when we were out walking, she made mention of something called the warning glory, and I thought oh, that’s a flower I’d love to see. It sounds like something that would grow two feet tall in the desert, with blood-red spikes all over it to fend off predators. Something that would give birth to enormous gossamer blossoms once a year in the dead of night and then lie dormant in meditative repose, saving up for another year.
Of course I'd misheard her; she was recalling one of the common flowers we'd drawn and written about, the morning glory. This happened around the time that Chuck and I were starting to make music together. The phrase seemed apt for this project, because so many of the songs are about doing the kinds of things people might warn you not to do, and what happens next. Songwriting, to me, is about giving voice to the beauty of those unplanned storylines that happen in life. Those are the stories of country music and the blues.
The only place I’ve found the phrase "warning glory" out in the world is in the title of the song “Warning Glory Waltz” by the Mississippi Mud Steppers. They’re a subgroup of artists from the Mississippi Sheiks. It’s dance music, a sort of sleepy waltz with lots of banjo tremolo, and in the middle it has this lively breakaway where it goes double time, and then goes back to normal. It's a beautiful tune, beautifully played.
I love the form and the sound and the strength of the music made by early country blues musicians like the Mississippi Mud Steppers and Mississippi Sheiks, and I'm deeply grateful to them for creating and giving to future generations the legacy of their music. I haven't been able to find any information on why the Mississippi Mud Steppers titled this song the way they did — if you do, please let me know!
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