![]() ![]() It feels almost voyeuristic, sat with Keith as he recounts waves of insecurities. It’s as if Keith is performing the songs alongside you, and creates a mystifying listening experience. In Joke From a Fist, from the posthumous Swimming Back to Shore Without Me, you can hear the sounds of paper rustling as he shakily moves between each verse (I’ve been told he emphatically insisted on only doing one take for each instrument). Keith’s endearingly gentle voice strains to hit each high note, and each coarse guitar string is strummed with tenderness and grace. ![]() Each composition is awash with atmosphere, dripping with touches of maudlin ambience. But every song under the Bunkbed name has a distinct dual nature of frail performance and rugged lo-fi texture, creating an ethereal nature which cannot be imitated. Keith’s lo-fi loner brand of art recalls obvious contemporaries such as Daniel Johnston and Elliott Smith (there are, in fact, a few Smith-isms throughout his discography in similar chord changes and vocal melodies, a close friend even described them as “kindred spirits”). His music has been described in what few remnants of memory the internet has of him as sincere, heart-wrenching, raw, and the more blunt descriptor of “breakup music”. A Santa Cruz native at the time of his passing, Keith was a beloved member of the California scene who touched numerous people with both his art and affable presence, a friend telling me that he always made those around him laugh with exultation. Keith was born on July 15th, 1971, nicknamed “Karate” by his friends, half-anagram and half-nod to the Boston band of the same name. Jeff Walsh of Turn Records, who released both Bunkbed albums, was once told by Keith, “it didn’t matter if he even had a place to live, as long as he had his 4-track and his guitar he would continue to make music”. We could talk about your decision / Over coffee and cigarsīut I’m cramping up my life / and I don’t have time for me ![]() We could wrestle arms, but I’m too weak to cheat The lyrics of Substance Abuse paint a mournful picture of a failing relationship between two companions, laid out somber and matter-of-fact for the listener to absorb. Upon placing the record on the turntable, I was met with the whispering croon of Keith’s voice alongside simple, but plaintive guitar, a duet of male and female vocal, and mournful cello. A pain which translates to listeners to this day, after Keith’s tragic passing in 2002. Even before placing the record on the turntable, the single’s titles and meticulously illustrated cover art evoke images of graphic pain and suffering images which permeate throughout Bunkbed’s discography. The 7” bears two striking names Substance Abuse on the A-side, Grasping For Reasons on the B. It’s a single by Bunkbed, the moniker of California singer-songwriter Keith Krate. ![]()
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