Marcel Winatschek

Where Seacoal Burns

Moths move quietly—that’s the whole trick. Seacoal sits in the same register: low, patient, the kind of song that doesn’t announce itself so much as settle in like weather coming off the coast. Seacoal is the stuff that washes ashore after ships spill their cargo—it burns, but it’s not quite right, not quite clean. The song has that quality too. Something slightly salvaged about it, something that shouldn’t be as warm as it is.