Despite self-proclaimed turntablists making great strides for their esoteric profession, the big DJ boom of the ’90s was destined to be sort of short-lived. Sure, previously marginalized creators finally stepped into the spotlight and established their own identity and musical vocabulary—one completely distinct from MCs and other musicians—but technology eventually made manipulating vinyl just another (albeit powerful) weapon in any sample-based artist’s arsenal.
Modern producers can re-appropriate sound in ways their predecessors could never have imagined, but that doesn’t mean that classic DJ skills can’t still pay the bills. They mostly just need better presentation, crab scratches and behind-the-back beat juggling not being as visually stunning as they once were, and Sunday night's Turner Hall Ballroom show proved Kid Koala has no shortage of ideas in that department.
A modern update of old-timey traveling revues, “Kid Koala’s Vinyl Vaudeville” has existed in some form or another for four years now, but this particular tour coincides with the release of Floor Kids, a breakdancing game scored by the Canadian turntablist for the Nintendo Switch, which attendees could try out on a few arcade-style cabinets (it’s basically a rhythmic button-masher that is incredibly easy to play and probably equally hard to really master). The live proceedings were kicked off by an hour-long set from DJ Jester, “The Pilipino Fist,” which was enjoyable despite a few clumsy, smash-cut mixes. More awkward were the repeated shout-outs to Summerfest, as if it was the only thing he knew about Milwaukee and was committed to working it hard.
Next came a short set from Adira Amram and the Experience, the brevity of which definitely did it a favor, since their corny, only occasionally clever brand of ironic electro would have worn out its welcome after much longer. That’s not to say their set didn’t fit the anything-goes feel of the whole thing, which only got ratcheted up once the headliner took the stage. As soon as he did, the circular screens on either side of the stage, which had heretofore just held still images of the openers, turned into giant, blinking googly eyes, and it only got more cartoonish and surreal from there, employing enormous puppets, scantily-clad showgirls, audience participation and, perhaps most charmingly, plenty of funny personal asides from the Kid himself.
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As he ran through a discography-spanning set, dutifully touching on nearly every release—from his debut record. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, to a medley of standout cuts from the Floor Kids soundtrack—the theatrics only increased. (During “Drunk Trumpet,” a giant anthropomorphic instrument roamed the room, causing trouble). Just as fun were the between-song segments, like when he enlisted the crowd’s help—not in a making-a-tour documentary but a tour mockumentary—apparently chronicling the tale of a pair of octopus DJs who happen to be conjoined twins. On paper, it may sound like a lot of flash, designed to distract from some shortcoming in the music, but none of the hoopla would’ve worked without Kid Koala’s impeccable skills behind the decks.
