Claude Morrison, far left, with the Nylons in concert on Sept. 7, 1986.Hans Deryk/The Globe and Mail
Claude Morrison, the last surviving original member of the world-famous Canadian a cappella group the Nylons, died of cancer in his home on April 22. He was 72 and had retired when the vocal quartet called it a day in 2017.
Funny and self-aware, he joked about his celebrity status. “Don’t you know who I think I am?” he would exclaim, in mock indignation.
For nearly 40 years he was the high tenor singer in an act that sold more than three million albums internationally, played Carnegie Hall, were nominated for five Juno Awards and shared stages with the likes of the Pointer Sisters and Bette Midler.
Though a star in a high-pressure industry, he took a lighthearted approach to his livelihood.
“He was a serious professional, but he knew how to have a good time,” said Micah Barnes, jazz artist and former Nylons member. “I believe that, along with his natural charm, is why audiences fell in love with him.”
Mr. Morrison and the Nylons had hits with voice-only covers of bubble gum classics such as the Turtles’ Happy Together, Steam’s Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye and the Tokens’ The Lion Sleeps Tonight.
Amid all the shooby-doos, wah-wahs and ooo-eees, he was known for falsetto parts that “sounded like transmissions from another galaxy,” as described by The Globe and Mail’s Paul McGrath in 1980.
His voice harmonized with the raspy baritone of Paul Cooper, the striking lead tenor of Marc Connors and the bass of Arnold Robinson. The original bass singer was Denis Simpson, host of the TVOntario children’s television series Polka Dot Door.
The Nylons’ stage act relied on slick chorography, campy antics and snappy, pun-happy banter in addition to the signature silky four-part singing. Though all the original members were failed actors, Mr. Morrison’s theatricality attracted special attention. He was innately funny, with a dancer’s animated flair − a pirouette waiting to happen, onstage or off.
“He had an effervescence about him,” said Wayne Thompson, who managed the group during its glory years. “He was very much joie de vivre.”
The Nylons made their debut on a frigid February evening in 1979 in a small eatery called Scoops in Toronto’s Yorkville neighbourhood. On a “sing for your supper night” they tested their four-song repertoire. The receptive audience of a dozen or so diners wanted more, but the group (jokingly named in fellowship with the fabric-friendly vocal groups the Chiffons, the Orlons and the Five Satins) had no more material to give them. So, they repeated the four tunes.
In 1982, they released a debut self-titled album of covers and original material that reached No. 8 on the Canadian pop charts. That year, after playing cabarets and developing a following within the city’s gay community, the Nylons broke wide, selling out Toronto’s Massey Hall.
It was a meteoric rise at a time when some music fans were tired of punk rock and turned off by the seriousness of new wave. Canada was enduring an economic recession, and the hapless Toronto Maple Leafs were demoralizing a nation. In a time that was ripe for novelty, the Nylons had a leg up.
“They were trained actors who took every song and created a mini video on stage, with lighting and costumes and sets,” Mr. Thompson said. “They were a breath of fresh air.”
Mr. Thompson’s next task was to break the Nylons in the United States. A showcase for a group originally promoted to gay audiences could not have happened in a more unlikely venue: Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Mansion in Los Angeles, heterosexuality’s epicentre.
“It was just so wrong,” Mr. Thompson recalled. “But we got to L.A., and I got people to see them.”
Opening slots on tours with the Pointer Sisters and Bette Midler broadened their audiences. They even performed Bruce Springsteen’s Fire with the Pointer Sisters during the headlining set.
“All of a sudden,” Mr. Thompson said, “they were cool.”
By the late 1980s, the Nylons were making upwards of 100 U.S. appearances annually. They toured the world, while setting an attendance record at home at the Ontario Place Forum.
In 1987, they released their fourth album Happy Together, which reached No. 43 on the Billboard 200 chart. The same year, the Nylons received a Juno Award nomination for Canadian Entertainer of the Year (but lost to Bryan Adams).
Personnel changes followed. Tired of touring, Mr. Cooper left the group in 1990; Mr. Connors died of AIDS-related pneumonia a year later. Despite the fluctuating lineup, the Nylons successfully continued to tour and record. They earned a Juno nomination for their final album, 2011’s Skintight.
All of the original Nylons were gay men (although later lineups included both gay and non-gay singers). They were an inspiration.
“The Nylons were my hometown heroes before I joined them, said Mr. Barnes, who replaced Mr. Cooper in 1990. “They would jump up at loft parties and they were the talk of the town in the 1980s, when I was just getting into the business.”
Mr. Morrison lived unabashedly.
“Claude was a very saucy, out and proud gay man,” Mr. Barnes remembered. “It was an open secret for the industry and fans. He represented a freedom and self-empowerment for gay men, but without being didactic or overly political about it.”
He married hairstylist Victor Allen in 2011. They shared a house together in Toronto’s east end with their dogs and Mr. Morrison’s piano.
“Victor was a wonderful guy,” said Mr. Morrison’s sister, Marg Anne Morrison. “He was handsome and generous, and good for Claude in many ways.”
Mr. Morrison resembled one of the dogs, Chester, a shaggy mixed breed rescued from the Humane Society. He and the pooch won a look-alike contest one year.
Mr. Allen died in 2016 after suffering a fall in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
Mr. Morrison dealt with the peculiarly rigorous demands of being in an a cappella group. In a regular ensemble, the singer gets a break when, say, the saxophonist takes a solo. Such is not the case in an all-vocal group, where the only instruments are vocal cords. (The Nylons did use percussion for accompaniment.)
“Claude was very upfront with me about the physical demands of the gig,” Mr. Barnes said. “I know he was slowing down in the later years, as any of us would. But his dedication to showing up and giving fans his best possible show was really part of his spirit. That’s why he was able to do it all these decades. Claude just kept going.”
He was born Oct. 11, 1952, in Toronto, the third of three boys, with one sister to come. His father, Paul Morrison, was a businessman who at one time owned the Ulster Arms, a tavern that years later would become one of the most notorious “kick and stabs” in the east end.
His mother was Marguerite Morrison (née Miller), a registered nurse who worked in the orthopedics wing of St. Michael’s Hospital. She was also a painter. “I believe that’s where Claude‘s artistic ability as a musician came from,” said Mr. Morrison’s brother, Paul Morrison.
According to his family, Mr. Morrison “sang and danced his way through childhood and just kept on going.”
He attended St. Michael’s Choir School and St. Michael’s College School, an all-boys Catholic institution in Toronto. After high school, he graduated from the University of Pennsylvania, where he gravitated to the Penn Glee Club as a moth would to a flame.
Before co-founding the Nylons, he toiled as an aspiring actor and dancer. As a singing waiter at a restaurant specializing in Canadian food, his job was to croon Farewell to Nova Scotia to the pancake-and-maple-syrup set.
With the theatre company Famous People Players, one of his tasks was to manipulate giant puppets representing Elvis, Liberace and Anne Murray.
Mr. Morrison caught a break in 1978 when he received a call from the great actor William Hutt, who recruited him to dance in a production of Kiss Me Kate at the Grand Theatre in London, Ont.
“Claude was pretty bloody flattered with that phone call,” his sister said.
He was excited enough to invite family members to the musical and arrange for front row seats. Unfortunately, his sister was tired from having stayed out late the night before.
“One of the female dancers dancing with Claude saw me and yelled to him, ‘Your sister is sleeping!’” Ms. Morrison recalled.
He enjoyed water-skiing and played tennis with enthusiasm and his own distinctive style.
“He had a serving motion perhaps as unusual as one has ever seen,” his brother said. “He would twist himself into the air as he tossed the ball and then jump up after it. Sometimes the serve went in, but more often than not it didn’t.”
According to his family, Mr. Morrison loved and hated, was enamoured or enraged, but was never indifferent. His beliefs when it came to political and social matters were held fiercely and freely expressed.
Critical of U.S. President Donald Trump, he vowed never to travel to the United States again.
“He couldn’t stand what Trump was doing to the country,” his brother said. “And he kept his promise.”
Mr. Morrison was diagnosed with colon cancer several years ago. After the cancer spread, his chemotherapy treatments were halted in October, 2024.
“He continued to express the belief he was going to get better,” his brother said. “He had an optimistic outlook throughout his life, and that he held that belief was not surprising.”
He leaves his partner, John Markidis; his siblings, Ross Morrison, Paul Morrison and Marg Anne Morrison; two nephews; and five grandnephews.
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