On March 24th, 2024, there was a celebration of life for my brother at Mountain View Cemetery’s Celebration Hall. Adam Rohrlick, a close friend of Tom, helped some of Tom’s musician friends create the event. (Without Adam, especially, this event could not have happened as I was quarantined with COVID and also grief.) Tom Keenlyside gave the speech, which we would have called the eulogy if we’d called the event a funeral. It was a beautiful and funny speech, and I will post it below for you to read. Norm Fisher, Andreas Schuld, Ian Putz, Michael Creber and Dylan Cramer, along with Tom Keenlyside on sax, all filled the room with music, mostly playing selections from Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.

Over a hundred people attended and some of them came to the front to share memories of Tom at the podium, including his high school band teacher, Bob Rebagliati, and Peter Paulus. Most of the attendees were strangers to me before that day, or I knew them only by name, but their love and appreciation for Tom supercharged the room, making it feel for a while as if Tom was with us again. Tom’s husband, Melvin, and my children and husband and I are all so very grateful to you for enabling us to see him through the eyes of his own community of musicians. We were very moved by the kindness shown to us by everyone. Thank you.

“Hen’s Teeth,” a speech about Tom Colclough by Tom Keenlyside

“Hen’s teeth… as rare as hen’s teeth.” That’s what my mother used to say when describing something or someone that you very seldom cross paths with. What a fitting description of our beloved Tom Colclough, a rare human: keenly intelligent, kind, generous, easygoing, superbly talented, and uproariously funny. A complex and beautiful man. 

 I first heard Tom play music in the 1980’s, at the Landmark Jazz Bar. He was leading “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride,” an excellent band featuring himself and some of Vancouver’s finest players. From the moment he launched into a solo, I knew that this moment for me was different. Every note coming out of his alto saxophone  was a gem, the pureness of his tone transcendent, his mastery complete. Even at his comparatively young age, it was clear he had a vast knowledge of the language of jazz, and music in general. 

We became friends shortly after that, sharing thoughts on music, culture and  life in general. I was struck by his kind nature, which would reveal itself in many ways…a Christmas card snuck into my sax case during a break, a thoughtful and  heartfelt note when my dad passed away, a funny just-for-the-hell-of-it- message  on my answering machine.  

 My wife Nicki-Lea and I were set to move from a house on the west side of  Vancouver, and as she was seven months pregnant with our second son at the  time, it was going to be a major effort. As we began the arduous endeavour on the morning of the move, there was a knock at the door. When I opened it, standing there smiling, completely out of the blue, was Tom. “Moving man is here,” he said. He had remembered me mentioning to him that we were relocating and had stashed away the date in his head. He worked with us all day, carrying boxes, lifting the other end of furniture, with no expectations of anything other than some physical exercise and a few laughs. He made a huge difference. 

 I think it’s fair to say that Tom didn’t suffer fools, and was quick to use his razor-like wit to call them out. One day at university, his clarinet instructor (soon-to-be former clarinet instructor), a notoriously cranky and intolerant sort, was in the middle of giving him a lesson, and was railing against Tom’s interpretation of a particular passage. “Not like that, like this,” the teacher barked, and proceeded to perform the passage in demonstration, emitting an unfortunate squawk toward the end of the phrase. “Oh, like thi,s” Tom said, and played the passage back in the  style the teacher had requested, the loud squawk in exactly the same spot.  Just desserts, best served cold. 

Pranks and good-natured sabotage are a pretty common theme in the world of the commercial musician. Tom was ingenious at both disciplines.  For several years I played summer stock musicals at the Arts Club on Granville Island. One year the musical “Cabaret” was mounted, which featured, among other things, the band dressed up in drag as the “All Girl Band.” Being forced into costumes was pretty run of the mill for us, so … on with the show.   I had to sub out for a week, so, needless to say, I got on the phone with Tom and he agreed to play for me. Being roughly the same size, the various fishnet  stockings, corsets or whatever I had to wear were going to fit him, so we were  good to go.  

 After I returned, I asked the bandleader how it went, already knowing the answer. “Tom did great — he’s outstanding.” Okay, job well done. I resumed my position in the band.  The first half of the show went smoothly, no hiccups at all. The second act began with the Entr’Acte, a fast-paced instrumental number in cut time, with lots of page turns. We were completely visible to the audience, on a balcony above the stage, in our women’s finery. We played…wilkomen, bienvenue, welcome at a fast clip. I got to the end of page five and quickly turned the page, to see …  A full-size xeroxed photo of a buff-naked man, obviously into body-building, standing in a come-hither pose, whose head had been taped over with the head of Mr. Rogers, the children’s entertainer. A dialogue bubble emerged from Mr.  Roger’s mouth, that said “Welcome to my neighbourhood.”

Ingenious…breathtakingly weird, and of course, a complete calamity for me, who was basically useless at that point. I can’t remember how I played after that, but it was probably bad.   

I was fortunate enough to play beside him in various settings dozens of times; big band gigs, recording sessions, bars, clubs…always a pleasure and an honour. His sight-reading, phrasing, soloing and general musicianship were always top level in these situations, the band often doubled up with laughter at his humour. It’s hard to stay focussed when, in a recording session, a couple of seconds before you are about to play, you hear through your headphones “Hello nice lady.”

One of the highlights of my music career will always be hearing him tear it up with  the Jim Byrnes band, redefining Junior Walker”s “Shotgun” with fiery passion,  virtuosity, and immense amounts of soul. The band would howl. Or hearing him reshape the role of the clarinet in jazz, a work of art in his hands, mastery  inherent in every note.  

His career took him on the road, and he became one of the premier show woodwind players anywhere. I didn’t see him much after he started crossing the US over and over again playing in the orchestra pits, honing his craft to the highest level. We managed to stay in touch by phone, the chats progressively more thoughtful. He often expressed joy and great gratitude for his loving relationship with his husband Melvin, a deep appreciation for the love and care shown by his family and friends. In our conversations, he discussed his illness with deep wisdom, no self-pity and, of course, humour. I learned a lot about strength and grace from those chats with Tom, and they will stay with me as life lessons. 

Tom Colclough was indeed a rare human, rare as hen’s teeth, and the world just got a little smaller without him. He surely will be missed, but his magnanimous heart, music and laughter will always remain. 

March 24, 2024