Paul Hann, children's musician and Edmonton kids' TV host, dies at 77
The first thing Michael Hann remembers is how grateful his dad sounded when he talked about work. Playing music never felt like a job to Paul Hann. It felt like getting away with something wonderful.
Hann died in Victoria on Oct. 30 at 77, after living with Parkinson's with Lewy body. He left a trail of songs, a TV show that shaped a generation of Edmonton kids, and a simple, contagious idea: music should feel like play.
From London to Woolworth's to a record deal
Born July 7, 1948, in West Wickham, a suburb of London, Hann came to Canada at 18 with a romantic plan to become a lumberjack. That didn't happen. Instead, he found a job at Woolworth's, met fellow songwriter Pete White (movies and tv series), and started building a life around songs and small stages.
By 1973 he'd recorded A Fine, White Thread, the first release on Holger Petersen (movies and tv series)'s Stony Plain Records. A year later he landed a Juno nomination for most promising male artist and picked up a nickname that stuck: the "Cockney Cowboy." The Juno Awards don't hand that kind of nod out lightly.
Through the '70s and early '80s, Hann kept at it - albums with Stony Plain and others, with stops like 1980's Hometown Heroes along the way. Somewhere in there, he met Cathy Crump. They married and had two kids, Michael and Emily.
"Meant to be" a children's entertainer
Hann's turn to children's music felt natural to him. "I think it was meant to be," he told the Journal's Helen Metella in 1984. "Everything I was doing was leading up to this, and I think that playing for children is my forte."
He'd already tried it on for size in 1980 with Ice Cream Sneakers, a collaboration with John Allan (movies and tv series) Cameron, Connie Kaldor, Mavis McCauley and Larry Reese (movies and tv series). But 1982's Brand New Boogaloo Zoo is where he really found his lane.
And here's the thing that made it work: he didn't sing at kids. He sang with them. "It wasn't 'brush your teeth and make your bed,'" Michael says. "It was singing about animals with a folk flair. Adults liked listening too. He saw kids on their level, and they always felt seen."
The TV years: Paul Hann and Friends
Hann was a natural on camera. In 1982, he teamed up with CFRN for a half-hour series, Paul Hann and Friends, pulling in guests like Will Millar of the Irish Rovers and puppeteer Ronnie Burke. It was gentle TV - songs, play, warmth - and it clicked.
Three years later, the show was picked up by CTV for a run through 1988. Edmonton kids were bused to the studio to watch, filing in with that jittery excitement you only get when the lights come up and the microphones look too big. If you grew up in that window, you probably remember him as a second dad.
Never stopped chasing the next thing
Hann circled back to his singer-songwriter roots with 1997's Circling the Fire, but he always kept kids in the picture. Michael eventually joined him as a sideman and saw up close how seriously his dad took giving people a good show - whether it was a packed room or a handful of families on a rainy Saturday.
Offstage, he chased experience. He got his pilot's license and flew himself to gigs. After moving to Vancouver Island, he learned to sail and taught the family (movies and tv series). In 2015, he went to Antarctica with Michael - a bucket-list trip that felt like a summary of who he was: curious, game, not afraid to try.
The kind of dad who said "go for it"
"He always encouraged us to do what we love and to live life on our own terms," Michael says. No lecture, no pressure. Just permission.
Michael told him in his early 20s, over lunch, "Dad, I'm gonna get my scuba instructor's certificate." A lot of parents would nudge toward university or a steady job. Paul said, "That sounds so cool. Good for you." That yes led to whale watching, then Antarctica, and eventually back to that trip they took together.
Why it mattered - especially for kids' TV folks
Hann's approach was simple and still relevant for anyone making kids' content today. No scolding. No sugar rush. Just songs with heart, a little silliness, and a host who treats children like people. It worked in classrooms, on records, and live on TV.
Here's what that could mean now: in an era of louder-faster-bigger, there's still room for shows that slow down, make eye contact, and invite kids to sing along. Hann proved that warmth travels - from a folk club to a studio floor to a family's living room.
He'll be remembered as a singer, a host, a pilot, a sailor - and, for a lot of Edmonton millennials, the friendly face who made after-school TV feel like home.
