Very sad news that the Scottish jazz pianist Brian Kellock died last night. Brian was revered in the Scottish jazz world and far beyond.
I didn’t know him well, but I had got to know him a bit through attending his Sunday afternoon performances (with double bassist Kenny Ellis) for some years at The Shore Bar in Leith, his ‘regular gig’ when he wasn’t performing elsewhere.
It was obvious to me – a visitor from the world of classical music – that Brian was hugely talented, and also obvious that he was not as well known as he should have been. In a way this was to the advantage of the little circle of devotees who attended his Sunday afternoon sessions. There was a special sense of being ‘those in the know’. While he played, there was an atmosphere of spellbound appreciation. This was especially enjoyable on winter afternoons when a fire was blazing in the grate and the bar’s glowing woodwork was reflected in the enormous mirrors behind the booths where we sat. We were kind of surprised that Brian was willing to keep turning up to play to this small crowd, but we also understood that for him the point of the occasion was the music, not the size of the audience.
Having studied jazz with Jaki Byard for one semester in Boston when I was a post-grad, I knew enough about jazz to know that I was listening to a master. Brian’s solos had a wonderful arc, building up over many rounds of the tune to a virtuoso climax. He took his task very seriously, deep in concentration as he played, staring hard at the piano keyboard and clearly thinking many choruses ahead as he built the structure of his improvisations. His harmonies were subtle and precise. Once I told him that a record producer could just have switched on the red light, recorded the session and issued it on CD without any editing. Brian raised his eyebrows at this and looked sceptical, but in a pleased sort of way.
I would have liked to talk to him more, but he was a hard person to engage in conversation. My family and I treasured the dry witticisms he seemed to deploy as a sort of protective shield.
Brian once came to a recital of mine in the Queen’s Hall, Edinburgh. I was touched when he wrote me a note afterwards about the thing he had liked best, a set of Schubert Moments Musicaux. He said he had especially liked the second one, a gentle, pensive piece. I remembered that remark later when I heard him play a beautiful, melancholy version of the old Scots song ‘My love is like a red, red rose’ on the same piano in the Queen’s Hall during a jazz festival. He liked to appear gruff and no-nonsense, but there was a lot of deep feeling there.
I didn’t know him well personally, but I felt I did know him through his music. I hope he sensed the esteem in which we held him.
As a friend of Brian’s and also a jazz pianist, thank you for such a perceptive and deeply felt tribute to a master musician – never mind categories
Richard Muchael
Hon Professor of Jazz piano St Andrews University
Thank you, Richard. I didn’t know you were a friend of Brian’s, but of course I’m well aware of your own distinguished career in the jazz world.
Brian was a great friend and musician. Very well said Susan. He played in my big band several times. We done the BBC BIG BAND COMPETITION. I said well play kid from red bank by basie . He didn’t no it but said put up the music it’s a hard piano piece he played every note perfectly I was knocked out by his musicianship. Will miss him greatly
Thank you Bob for your comment. I can imagine Brian was a great sight-reader as well!
I am also a jazz musician and had the utmost pleasure in playing with Brian many times over a 30 year period. The jazz community are of the opinion that Brian was the greatest Scottish jazz musician of all time. We are saddened by his passing, and by the thought that we won’t hear him play live ever again. How lucky we were to have known him, and lucky to have his many recordings— he was the rarest of rare gems.
John, thank you for this tribute to Brian. I too can’t quite grasp the idea that we’ll never hear him play live again.
How lovely that you had both played on the same piano, in the same hall, and were able to appreciate each other’s musical worlds.
So shocked and saddened to hear about Brian – I first met him while working in Rae Mac’s – he would have been about 16 and still at Heriot’s – he had a Saturday job in the record department! I remember chatting to him and he told me he played the oboe! Years later he played in Moray at the Ramage Jazz Festival and I was bowled over with his playing. You described him perfectly Susan … this quiet and unassuming soul is going to be sorely missed.
Sheila, thank you for this glimpse of the teenage Brian. I had no idea that he played the oboe!
Thanks for another lovely insight and tribute Susan. I had followed him as a listener since the Caber Records days, and have one of those vivid memories of speaking briefly to him in Henrys after he had played a Fats Waller set. I had the brass neck to ask if he intended to record a solo stride CD because I was so bowled over. He also gave me a raised eyebrows look or was it “who are you to suggest that” look?! Anyway, years later and so glad to have found that this was released in 2020 (which I missed at the time). https://briankellock.bandcamp.com/album/bidin-my-time
Thanks, Ian – I have that ‘Bidin’ My Time’ CD too. A lovely CD, though I still feel his live performances were even better.
This was indeed shocking news for those of us who have been privileged to hear Brian in a vast range of contexts over the last thirty or so years, starting (for me) with the John Rae Collective. Hard to choose, but I think his accompaniments to Sheila Jordan were my favourites.
Tony, thank you for your comment. Many people have said how much they enjoyed Brian’s playing in a collaborative situation. I often heard him with bassist Kenny Ellis and always enjoyed their interaction.