When people ask me that question I always wonder what it is that they expect to hear. Do they want a biography, a list of childhood highlights, little charcoal sketches of past traumas shaded softly to prevent the transference of revelation? What version of events will satisfy their curiosity? What meaning could I possibly relay to them from this perch atop the trash pile of this eastern most neighbourhood of this city of monstrous overpasses and urban chandeliers? Too many words? Probably. You can call me buster. That's all I go by these days. It used to be buster frequency back when I played bass in a band called The Chemical Spray. We had a sort of noisy sheen to our stuff. A friend, who was clearly high at the time, once told me that we sounded like a beautiful car crash. Though I appreciated the Ballard reference I couldn’t quite get with the comparison at the time. Took actual offence but maybe now that I think about it the comparison wasn't all that far off. Mangled technology, circuits sparking, threat of bodily injury, spot fires, car radios jammed between channels playing static for the paramedics. Maybe that's a pretty accurate description of our style. Anyway, I’m buster now and that's that. Easy to remember. I put frequency away after the band broke up. It is like the cape of a retired magician folded neatly and stowed away in a chest. I haven't used it for years. | image @fourtetkieran