Buzzing about being like a used lawn mower, “How long» is a brutal alarm that shocks and then awakens the defense systems of the soul. Psalm-like in its complexity, Weston Skaggs’ new single is a protest anthem, a dirge and a Whitmanian reflection, all in one pill. Just as America’s beloved bard once quipped, “Every atom that belongs to me, belongs to you,” Skaggs’ elongated notes in the chorus are cut from the universal chords of being human.
The movement of the song oscillates between a wintry mix of doubt and the beginning of spring. The opening verses indignantly invoke the names of biblical pillars as a kind of list of inductive evidence – a Who’s Who list – intended to show God the error of his ways. After the first minute of the song, Skaggs’ voice becomes harsh and petrified, assured of the perspective and vindication of the heartbreak imbued throughout the song. But this is not a simple show-and-tell plot: show God how many of his loved ones have suffered and tell everyone about it to arouse outrage. Instead, the audience begins to hear a tonal shift in the dynamics of the chorus and perceive the symbolic peaks and valleys of life Christian in cries of “How long?” » Drawing on the prophetic tradition of Isaiah and others, Skaggs issues a profound communal cry for God – not against Him – to change His mind on our behalf. How long will we have to languish in the aftermath of a pandemic? How long will our broken relationships remain unmaintained and wither on the vine? How long will we see injustices around us through abuse of power?
“Father, teach me to wait even in sorrow,” is almost whispered almost two minutes into the piece where the artist seems to be preparing to climb a hill again, extolling his prayer, in an aggressive ascent towards the temple of God. But rather than discovering more blood pressure escalations and digressions of fault and blame, the litany of “How long” becomes progressively softer and distilled. The question shifts. The cross-examination begins. God asks, “How long? » The venom and self-righteousness of the human questioner evaporates until, like a child, the voice simply begs to know when things will return to hope.
In fact, “How Long” is a duplex with one apartment located in despair and the other in hope. In the end, the hypnotic call of “How long” is not directed to God, but is spoken by the believer to the believer himself. The list of names, incidental to empty court hearings brought by a failing prosecutor, has also disappeared. Instead, the question of “How long” disappears from the icy, communal wall of outrage and becomes a single clear mirror in which each listener is invited to see our reflection and feel the pain of others while wondering if we, in our propensity to shout, it may not be the hands and feet of God ourselves.
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Author: Herb Longs