Week 380: “Inches Apart” by Magana

One of the weirdest things about raising kids is the fact that any decision you make, no matter how trivial, can have a lasting effect on their lives.

Think for a second about the house you grew up in. Was there some detail in that house that, for no apparent reason, you will never forget? The sound your bedroom window made when you opened it? The feel of the basement rug under your feet? The pattern on the tiles in the bathroom?

It’s the sum of those details that make up the overall feeling you get when recalling your childhood home.

I’m now making those types of decisions about my adult house. Decisions about what to put on the wall, what couch to get, which rug pulls out key colours from the rest of the room. The type of decisions that Tyler Durden from Fight Club would say leave my life devoid of excitement or meaning.

But to me, they’re decisions that carry the possibility of profound meaning for my kids. Which tile pattern will they trace with their fingers while they wait for dinner to be ready? Which couch will make the best highway for a toy car? Which painting will they be able to reproduce in their minds by virtue of constant subconscious viewing?

A million slightly different futures begin at each decision, and run parallel, separately yet only inches apart, to a distant vanishing point.

What makes this a beautiful song:

1. The way she sings slightly out of time, like a window that doesn’t open as smoothly as you expect.

2. The way the guitar isn’t tuned quite right, and rings against the frets, like a crack that interrupts the pattern on the bathroom tiles.

3. The way the strings hide so far back in the mix, like a memory whose details you can’t quite remember.

Recommended listening activity:

Getting lost in a furniture store.

Buy it here.