I found the letter below whilst going through some odds and ends at my parent's house last night.
My mum used to perform an absolutely vital function when I moved to Nottingham to go to university. Music programming on the Nottingham airwaves was really poor compared to London; it wasn't possible to tune into any decent electronic sessions, as it was back then in the early nineties on Kiss FM. Indeed John Peel, Peelie John himself, was my only source of new music on the radio back then, and I used to listen to his shows every week. He was broadcasting in his strange Saturday/Sunday afternoon slot at the time, so his shows went out at the same time as the football was being played all over the country - probably one of the reasons I never went to see Palace play at either the City or County grounds during my four years in Nottingham.
Anyway, back to the point - once a fortnight, my lovely mum would sit and tape some of the Wednesday/Thursday night Kiss FM shows for me, and send them up in a jiffy bag recorded on a C90 or C120 cassette. I never quite knew what would be inside; a brutal bit of noosebleed drum n' bass from Randall maybe, some Outer Limits business from Colin Dale, perhaps a session from Roni Size or Kenny Ken, and perhaps two hours of Colin Faver. Colin Faver was an absolute legend who played the very definition of techno, and I was lucky enough to hear him play out a couple of times, once in a seedy club in the West End and once at the SW1 club under Victoria station. He had a slightly thin, delicate voice and I imagined him to be almost permanently addled, sitting there behind the decks at Kiss FM.
So you can imagine my horror when I heard that Colin Faver, and his weekly Mastermixes, were being pulled. No more ripping open a cassette and slamming it on to get my dose of new music. Back to the pop drone of Trent FM?! No. Something needed to be said. And something was said:
