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, and yes, we enjoyed the show, whose bill was as diverse as OC music itself. We're glad that a sizable crowd attended, and that business seemed brisk at the concession counter selling horchata and cupcake balls for charity.
But the real draw was the rubbernecking curiosity we have about Fountain Valley quartet Stereofix, which may just be Orange County's most baffling band.
Stereofix draws a different fan base, which is why they're sort of fascinating. At the Gypsy Lounge in February, their showcase ranked as one of the weird highlights of the Orange County Music Awards season: They crammed the place with chicks in low-cut baby doll outfits and boasted a contingent of dudes that belted out the words to the songs while donning doe eyes that reminds this writer of the awesomeness that was seeing Linkin Park at 13.
In this day in age, in this music scene, Stereofix's non-ironic use of eyeliner, bull-horns and smoke machines is hilarious--I've heard them referred to as "totally cheesy"--but, for that very reason, gutsy. No influence is hidden. Cherub-faced singer Ray Alexander has deep lungs and a broad, familiar voice that ranges from sounding like the Killers' Brandon Flowers to sounding like Bono, which is to say it doesn't range very far. That description applies to the rest of the band as well, from the Edge-aping guitar effects to the vaguely disco choruses to the way that nearly every song opens with moody keyboard samples before dropping into a thudding, KROQ-ready groove.
And to be sure, Stereofix, the last band to perform Friday, has found an audience. Although the Yost was emptier than it had been at any point in the two hours before, the second half of Stereofix's set saw a devoted clan of about 30 pressed close to the stage, bobbing heads and pumping fists.
Also on the bill: Stacy Clark's amiable pop, DJ Old Boy's soul records, and the blues of Old Boy's zombie-faced alter-ego, Brother Cecil. Turkey & Friends organized the event.