Keith McIvor, internationally known as DJ and producer JD Twitch and one half of Glasgow duo Optimo, was diagnosed with a glioblastoma in June 2025 after experiencing problems with his speech and walking. The tumour was inoperable and progressed with devastating speed, taking away Keith’s ability to walk, communicate and live independently. He died peacefully on 19th September 2025, aged 57, less than six months after first noticing something was wrong.
Keith’s widow, Marissa, is now investing £30,000 from money donated by friends, fans and the music community towards the Keith McIvor Glioblastoma Research Fund, supporting glioblastoma research through the Scottish Brain Tumour Research Centre of Excellence.
Keith McIvor (centre) with Jonnie Wilkes (left) at the Sub Club Rooftop Party in 2024
Here is Keith’s story, as told by his wife, Marissa…
Keith was known around the world as JD Twitch, but to me he was my husband, and to Amelie he was her stepdad. He was intelligent, curious and passionate about music, politics, people and ideas. While living in Glasgow, Keith co-founded the legendary Edinburgh club night Pure, and later went on to form Optimo with Jonnie Wilkes, with both club nights running concurrently for a time. Keith loved introducing people to unexpected music, sometimes mischievously clearing the dance floor with a record before playing it week after week until people understood what he had heard in it. His knowledge of music was honestly ridiculous.
I had known Keith for years through the Sub Club before we became a couple, when Amelie was seven. They became incredibly close, with music at the heart of their relationship. During lockdown, Keith discovered that 11-year-old Amelie loved the same Jamaican music he had fallen for at her age, and he dedicated his Crate of Jamaica mix to her. We also played a game identifying songs from tiny clips and, despite Keith’s extraordinary musical knowledge, Amelie usually won.
We got engaged during lockdown and married on 21st May 2022. Life with Keith was full of music. We went to gigs and festivals together and there was always something else he wanted us to hear or see. Then, in March 2025, everything began to change.
On 30th March, Keith was walking in the hills with friends in Todmorden when he struggled to find his words in the middle of a sentence and began having trouble with his footing.
He had played a gig the previous night, so initially he thought he was simply tired. The symptoms were subtle and Keith could be a bit of a hypochondriac, so when he started worrying about things like early-onset dementia, I initially tried to reassure him. Forgetting what you are saying halfway through a sentence can seem like something all of us do sometimes, but the problems continued.
His DJ partner, Jonnie, noticed changes that were completely unlike Keith; he confused left and right on familiar routes, scuffed his foot while walking and struggled with certain sounds in his speech. Keith had always been able to remember and plan routes anywhere in the world, and Jonnie had relied on him to lead the way.
Keith saw his GP as the difficulties with his speech, walking and tiredness became more noticeable. Stress was considered as a possible explanation, and he was also assessed for signs of a stroke before being referred for further neurological investigation. By the time Keith played Optimo’s Queen’s Park Spring Weekender in Glasgow on 4th May, he knew something was wrong. People watching him DJ probably would not have noticed, but privately he was frightened about his speech. He was struggling to find words and worried that people would think he was stupid, so he wanted me nearby to help him during conversations. His final ever performance was at Skye Live on 10th May. None of us knew it would be his last.
Keith and Marissa on their first trip to Tokyo, Japan, in 2018.
A few days later, I sent Keith to a physiotherapist because we wondered whether some of his physical difficulties could be connected to an old shoulder injury. The physio noticed a slight droop at the side of his mouth, partly hidden by his beard. I called the GP the following day and we were told to go straight to A&E because Keith might have had a stroke. A CT scan showed that it wasn’t a stroke, but there was an abnormal area in his brain, and an MRI showed a tumour involving the corpus callosum, with other lesions.
That date was also the fifth anniversary of the day Keith and I had become engaged. The next day was our third wedding anniversary and, although Keith was in hospital, I took him out on day release. We went to Mother India Café and talked about the future. I genuinely believed we would have another anniversary. I thought he could fight this and that the following year would be better. I had no idea it would be our last.
At first, I held onto the possibility that surgeons might be able to remove the tumour. That gave me enormous hope because I thought they could operate, Keith could fight the cancer and perhaps we could still have years together.
We learned that because of the tumour’s location and how it had spread, surgery to remove it was simply too dangerous and the operation would only be a biopsy. That was one of the hardest moments for me.
I had prepared myself for the possibility that Keith had a very serious brain tumour; I had not prepared myself to hear that they could not remove it.
The biopsy took place on 11th June. By then Keith was deteriorating frighteningly quickly. His walking was getting worse, his speech was becoming more difficult and he was losing weight. There were also cognitive and behavioural changes that were completely unlike him. At one point, he poured water over his beloved high-spec Apple Mac, destroying the computer that contained so much of his music and the tools he used for performing. The frightening thing was that Keith knew he was doing it. He told me he didn’t know why and couldn’t control himself.
Keith, Amelie and one of their many cuddly toys at Blair Drummond Safari Park.
On 20th June, we were told the biopsy had confirmed a glioblastoma – an aggressive and incurable brain tumour. I had done a lot of research by then and, because of where the tumour was, I had prepared myself for the possibility that it was a grade 3 or grade 4 tumour. What I hadn't prepared myself for was being told how few treatment options there were. Keith was already in a wheelchair and his ability to communicate had deteriorated dramatically. While the doctor was explaining the diagnosis, Keith just nodded and his eyes looked blank. I stopped the conversation and asked him, “Do you understand what that means?” He said, “No.”
That broke my heart. Keith was one of the most intelligent and informed people I knew. Normally he would have researched everything and could talk endlessly about music, politics or what was happening in the world. Now, doctors were talking about his own brain and he couldn’t understand what they were telling him. I had to become the person asking the questions and, increasingly, making decisions. That was incredibly difficult for me because I believe very strongly in helping people make their own choices. I tried for as long as possible to preserve Keith’s independence and involve him in every decision, but the tumour kept taking those choices away.
On 25th June, we were told that because steroids had not improved his problems with walking and speaking, the neurological damage was permanent.
There had been moments when I still hoped the swelling would reduce and some of those abilities would come back, but now we knew they wouldn't. Chemotherapy was eventually discussed, but Keith’s tumour was MGMT unmethylated and we were told the chance of it responding was very small. Treatment could not cure him or reverse the neurological damage already caused, while radiotherapy also risked making his existing symptoms worse. By then, the question was increasingly not how we could cure Keith, but how we could protect his quality of life.
Two of the hardest things for Keith were losing his ability to walk and speak. He had walked at least 10 miles every day and loved conversation, whether it was gossip, music or politics. As the tumour took away his mobility and speech, he lost much of the independence that had defined his life. I tried communication boards and other ways for us to talk, but his condition changed so quickly. I found myself grieving Keith’s voice while he was still alive.
His dog, Zara, became an important source of comfort. As speaking became harder, being with her gave Keith happiness without any pressure to communicate, and she was able to visit him in the nursing home and hospice.
Keith and his dog, Zara, in a local park. Kelvingrove, Glasgow.
The support Keith received was extraordinary. Friends, artists, clubs and fans around the world raised money and sent thousands of messages, allowing him to see how loved he was. Their generosity helped with his care and enabled us to have one final family holiday in Fife, where Keith even managed to get to the beach. Finding fully accessible accommodation was incredibly difficult because his needs were changing so quickly. We needed a hospital bed, hoist and specialist equipment, and suitable places were scarce and expensive.
We were fortunate to find somewhere at the last minute, but the holiday would not have been possible without my sister Antonia, a paramedic and nurse, and her partner David, who has experience in helicopter rescue first aid. Their skills and willingness to help care for Keith gave us something incredibly precious: time together as a family, away from hospitals and wards, making memories we will always treasure.
By 12th August, Keith had moved into hospice care. He was mostly non-verbal, extremely fatigued and needed full support, so the focus was simply on comfort, dignity and being together. We had tickets to see Lankum at Kelvingrove Bandstand on 16th August and only a week beforehand we genuinely thought we might get Keith there in his wheelchair with friends helping us. His condition changed so rapidly that it became impossible, and I went without him. Standing there, I suddenly realised that Keith would never introduce me to a new piece of music again. That was incredibly painful.
On Friday 19th September 2025, I was with Keith at the hospice. His friend Jill and I were each holding one of his hands and we were listening to Crate of Jamaica – the mix Keith had made during lockdown and dedicated to Amelie – when he peacefully drifted away. He was 57.
Music had been there throughout our family life. It had been part of Keith and Amelie’s relationship, part of our relationship, and now it was there with us at the very end.
After Keith died, we deliberately kept his funeral small and private. Amelie, with help from our friend Julienne, created a soundtrack of Billie Eilish songs to accompany photographs of Keith, while Jonnie chose other music that meant something to him. I chose Destination Moon by Solid Space. Keith and I had listened to it repeatedly during lockdown, and he was fascinated by space and space exploration and would even throw parties for the anniversary of the moon landing. About a month later, we held a larger memorial where people from the many different parts of Keith’s life came together.
Songs that remind me of Keith: Anything by Blondie, Lee “Scratch” Perry and Nina Simone; “Stand on the Word” by the Joubert Sisters, played at our wedding and memorial afterparty; “I Walk” by Quarks, an Optimo classic that also reminds me how much Keith loved walking; “You Don’t Love Me (No, No, No)” by Dawn Penn; and “Destination Moon” by Solid Space, which we listened to repeatedly during lockdown.
Keith, Amelie and Marissa in Ibiza
When I think about his legacy now, I don’t only think about records, clubs or everything he achieved professionally. I think about connection. Keith connected people to music and, through music, people connected with each other. There are friendships, relationships, communities and entire lives that crossed because of something Keith played or created. Everyone has a different soundtrack for him. For us, it is family stories, ridiculous jokes, records, dogs, mixtapes, festivals, holidays and ordinary moments at home. For somebody else, it might be a record Keith played at four in the morning 20 years ago that still transports them straight back to that dance floor.
I want Keith to be remembered for who he was, the incredible life he lived, the music he shared and the impact he had on so many people, rather than the final few months of his life. The tumour is how he died, not who he was. But equally, I don't want to minimise what glioblastoma did to him.
We couldn’t save Keith, but the extraordinary generosity people showed him means we can now try to make something positive happen in his memory.
We’re investing £30,000 towards the Keith McIvor Glioblastoma Research Fund, supporting glioblastoma research at the Scottish Brain Tumour Research Centre of Excellence.
This fund has the love and support of Amelie, Keith’s sister Julie, his stepmother Elizabeth and his friend and DJ partner Jonnie. It means a lot to me that this research can be connected with Scotland and with Glasgow and Edinburgh, the two cities woven through Keith’s life. Edinburgh was where he came from and where his family, earliest memories and musical influences began. Glasgow became his home and was where Optimo was born. Research cannot change what happened to Keith, but perhaps his legacy can become one small part of changing what happens to somebody else.
Keith at a bar on the rocks in Biarritz, France.
Keith spent his life introducing people to new things and creating connections between people he might never even have known existed. Now, I hope that the money raised in his memory can create another kind of connection – with future patients and families whom Keith will never know. I hope research can give them better answers, better treatments and better ways of preserving the independence, communication and quality of life that Keith lost so quickly.
We couldn’t have any more time with Keith. My hope is that one day other people diagnosed with glioblastoma, and the people who love them, will have what we didn’t – better options, more hope and, ultimately, more time together.
Please support the Keith McIvor Glioblastoma Research Fund here: https://www.justgiving.com/page/keithmcivor
Marissa Costello
October 2026
One in three people in the UK knows someone affected by a brain tumour. This disease is indiscriminate; it can affect anyone at any age. What’s more, brain tumours continue to kill more children and adults under the age of 40 than any other cancer yet, to date, just 1% of the national spend on cancer research has been allocated to this devastating disease since records began in 2002.
Brain Tumour Research is determined to change this.
If you have been touched by Keith’s story, you may like to make a donation via www.braintumourresearch.org/donate or leave a gift in your will via www.braintumourresearch.org/legacy
Together we will find a cure.
