Geared up to Rock Steady. By Jon Weiderhorn

A touring rock band has to evolve and adapt to survive. Fans might embrace a group’s original style and image for a while, but if a look and sound remains constant for too long, a band can become stale, its music bordering on self-parody.

The members of No Doubt are keenly aware of that phenomenon, which is why the band’s live performance over the years has changed as much as its music. In 1987, No Doubt was a high-octane ska/punk band armed with simple staccato songs, delivered by musicians who pogoed as they performed. Not long after, the band added ’80s pop melodies to their music and began playing with a sharper stage focus. In 1993, they downplayed the pop elements and amped up the punk-rock anger, reflecting the alternative angst of the time. The band began turning heads with its powerful concerts and the onstage energy of its front woman, Gwen Stefani.

But although anxiety and agony were at that time mass-marketable tools, No Doubt felt insincere thrashing with rage. They made their most successful album, Tragic Kingdom, in 1994; it reemphasized the group’s ska and new-wave influences within a framework of postgrunge rock. In turn, the band’s live show became more celebratory. Stefani started wearing an Indian jewel on her forehead and within months had helped trigger a new fashion trend.

No Doubt toured the record for more than two years, building up a core following by returning to the same cities two or three times. By the time they began writing their follow-up, Return to Saturn, in 1998, the band members were veritable celebrities, but they were also road-weary and burned out. Being away from significant others for months at a time took its toll, which is why Saturn songs such as “Simple Kind of Life” and “Ex-Girlfriend” seem to sting with intimate melancholy.

When No Doubt toured for Return to Saturn, they followed a less rigorous agenda, scheduling fewer promotional activities and making the most of their precious downtime. “After the shows, we’d have these dance-hall reggae parties, and we’d really enjoy dancing,” says bassist Tony Kanal. “That really made touring a lot more fun. So even though Return to Saturn was a more depressing album musically and lyrically, the tour was really great.”

The No Doubt dance-hall parties paved the way for the band’s new album. Rock Steady downplays guitar rock in favor of primal dance grooves. Most of the songs are packed with modern pop hooks reminiscent of Madonna’s Ray of Light, and the rhythms incorporate new wave, techno, hip-hop, reggae, and pop. The sound is like a spirited hybrid of Blondie, Daft Punk, and Shaggy. To match the vitality of the songs, No Doubt brought in an all-star cast of producers, including modern pop guru Nellie Hooper, new-wave pioneer Ric Ocasek, electronica wizard William Orbit, vintage reggae greats Sly and Robbie, and dance-hall reggae heavyweights Steelie and Cleevie. The group also signed on hip-hop masters Dr. Dre and Timbaland for a pair of tracks that never made the record but may surface in the future.

Just a few weeks after completing Rock Steady, No Doubt opened for U2 on a handful of dates. Because the new CD is heavily keyboard based and full of electronica elements, the band members have had to change the way they do things onstage. Four members are now playing keyboards at various points in the show, and for the first time, they’ve incorporated backing tracks.

“There’s a lot more sequences and stuff to deal with,” says Kanal. “So we’re rolling around with quite a few keyboards onstage, which is great. When we were writing this stuff, [guitarist] Tom [Dumont] and I said, ‘You know, if there are songs where I’m not playing bass and you’re not playing guitar, it’s no big deal. We’ll do whatever’s best for the song.’ So there are a few songs where we’re all [except drummer Adrian Young and Stefani] playing keyboards — including Stephen Bradley and Gabrial McNair, who join us when we play live — which is pretty spectacular.”

After the U2 tour, No Doubt will concentrate on promotional appearances until they begin a headlining U.S. tour this spring. Onstage spoke to Stefani, Kanal, and Dumont about the new CD and the challenges of playing it live.

Rock Steady sounds like such a fun and spirited record compared with your last album, Return to Saturn.
Gwen Stefani: It is. We were in a really great mood when we made it. I had such a great year. And the band and I made some decisions when we decided to do another record. We wanted to clean house as far as all the rules that had built up over the years. We just wanted to experiment and see if we could have fun making the record and not have any kind of restrictions.

Tom Dumont: We wanted to make a record that would work well, for example, in dance clubs. You can really dance to every song. At the same time, there’s a lot of variety in the record, just like on our last record. We got really inspired by contemporary dance-hall reggae, which has almost a hip-hop kind of beat to it. Some stuff is really synth-pop ’80s new-wave-sounding stuff; a couple of things are kind of just straight-ahead rock. It’s much more keyboard heavy, the result of me and Tony sitting around in my little Pro Tools studio with our keyboards, just noodling around to come up with some weird sounds.
Tony Kanal: Just the headspace we were at leant itself to what we were making here. Return to Saturn took two years because I think we felt the need to prove ourselves as songwriters and musicians. This one was more about just letting go and having fun with it. We started working on it in February, and it came out in December.
Stefani: It’s weird how it came together so fast, and we worked with so many amazing people, and it was so spontaneous. And the next thing I know, it’s done, and we love it. I couldn’t be more excited.

You’ve released four albums, including Rock Steady. But before you became a successful recording band, you developed a reputation as an exciting live act.

Stefani: Oh, in the past, playing live for us was everything. We were just learning how to make records, and we were already experienced at performing to a crowd, so we focused on playing live. It’s so different being in the studio. And I feel like we’re just starting to learn how to use computers and Pro Tools, which made this record so much different.

Has No Doubt’s emphasis on playing live changed?
Stefani: It has, because the recording process and the writing process are becoming more and more fun and we’re better at it, and the touring process is becoming harder and harder. Really, it’s harder to live the lifestyle once you’ve done it for a long time. Leaving home and being away and not seeing your family, it’s just such an extreme way to live. I still look forward to touring; I just wish we didn’t have to do it for so long. It’s like too much of a good thing, like if you love to eat chocolate but you just eat too much of it and you get sick. That’s kind of the way touring is for me.
Kanal: Doing it for too long is tough, but I love the fact that we’re touring in a different way now than we ever have before. It’s such a challenge to play with keyboards and sequencing, and I have to say, I really enjoy it. We can play older songs completely live and then also play the new stuff with sequencing. We get to do it all, and it’s just so much fun.

Was it somewhat overwhelming to go from being a completely organic band to one that mixes in recorded material onstage?

Kanal: No, because we structured the sequencing so there’s as much live stuff being played as possible. It wasn’t a situation where we’re using the sequencing as a crutch to make the songs work. I think that for the most part, it’s still very much of a live performance, with a few things augmented with the sequencing.
Dumont: It is a little bit weird for us because playing along with a track is somewhat awkward. We don’t want to break up the spontaneity of what we normally are able to do. But for the four or five songs [that we use backing tracks on], it works pretty well. The songs really kind of call for it.

Gwen, as a singer, what was it like for you to perform in this different musical framework?

Stefani: It’s hard to describe. I think I just try to perform each song the way the song wants to be. I’m not real conscious of what I’m doing onstage. Music just makes you react the way you’re gonna react, and I just react to what I’m feeling when we’re playing it. When we first tried to learn the new songs live, it was so hard. It was like a nightmare. But it was fun. It was especially rough because it was very hard to get back in the swing of it. We hadn’t done it in a year. And the first show we had to do was opening for U2 at Madison Square Garden. I was freaking, dude. It’s one thing to have a couple of warm-up gigs, but we had none. The closest thing to a warm-up gig was having my mom and dad come down to hear me sing the songs.

Is nervousness an issue before big shows?
Dumont: Every show is a little different. Generally, as long as the stage sound is good, the bigger shows are pretty easy. We’ve done enough of them now that it feels pretty comfortable. Usually a bunch of us will have a drink or so before we go on. Nothing more than that. It helps take the edge off. And this is a weird thing: I’ve noticed that if I chew gum during a show, or at least at the beginning of the show, something about having to play guitar and chew gum takes my mind off anything else. It’s the weirdest thing, but it helps.

What have you learned about playing live that you didn’t used to know?
Stefani: That it’s about what’s inside and the spirit of the music that counts. On Return to Saturn, I wanted to do more of a “show” show. I wanted to have these elaborate costume changes and incorporate more dynamics, and it didn’t really work out. I don’t think people wanted that from us. And we had two weeks of hell onstage before we kind of worked it out.

So it’s changed for this tour?
Stefani: I’ve learned that certain songs require certain things, and it’s fun to run around on certain tracks, but it’s also okay to just stand still and sing. It’s like a journey. I want to take people to different places when they come see the show.
Kanal: If you have confidence and give 110 percent every night, things usually go pretty well. You’ve just got to portray that confidence and have fun. And we definitely have fun when we play onstage.

Do you use in-ear monitors or wedges?

Dumont: We’re kind of split in the band. Gwen and our keyboard players/horn guys [Stephen Bradley and Gabrial McNair] have in-ears. They’re the ones who sing. Me and Tony and Adrian, we’re all on wedges, which is just kind of a preference. I used to have in-ears.

Why did you stop using them?
Dumont: I felt too disconnected from the show. I could certainly hear my playing with a lot of precision, could hear all the nuances, but I felt disconnected from the audience. At the end of shows, I was feeling like, “Did I play a show?” The kind of physical experience was taken away.
Kanal: I tried them but felt kind of restricted because I like to move around a lot and I always found they were falling out. No matter what I did, I couldn’t keep them in my ears. So I prefer traditional wedges and side fills.

Has having Gwen and the other singers on in-ears helped with the stage volume?

Dumont: In the past, before in-ears, Gwen needed a lot of stage volume to hear herself and sing in tune. In those days, there were sections of the stage where I couldn’t even walk because her vocal was so loud. Since she went to in-ears, her stage volume is down to a really nice level, so I can hear everything pretty well.

Tony, are you doing anything different with your stage gear now that your music has taken on a more danceable, poppy feel?
Kanal: I’ve always had a very simple rig, just an amp and a speaker cabinet. Now it’s a little more complicated, but it’s still pretty simple. I’m just using one kind of effects rack to emulate more of the Jamaican dance-hall keyboard kind of bass sounds that we’ve recorded on this record. And for the first time, I’m actually playing some keyboards onstage, too. I’m just running a MIDIman keyboard into an Emu Proteus 2000 and getting some really cool sounds.

Tom, you’re playing keyboards as well?

Dumont: Yes, on one song — “Hey Baby.” I play one of those portable keyboard units [Roland AX-1], hanging on me like a guitar. It’s kind of a novelty thing, but I’m definitely enjoying it. I’m not a great keyboard player, but I am good enough to handle the part.

Has your setup changed for this tour?
Dumont: I’m really into simplicity, and this is the first time I’ve ever used a rackmount effects processor. I’ve always used stompboxes. I’m using a T.C. Electronic G-Major. It’s cool, and it’s new for me. I’m having fun programming it, figuring it out. The big reason I use it is that I’m really anal about signal loss, cable length, and stuff. This thing sits next to my amp, and it just goes to the effects loop with the shortest cord possible.

Who puts together your live arrangements?

Dumont: We do it pretty much as a group. And Gabrial, our keyboard player, has been helping out a lot lately in sorting things out. He has a really good ear, and it’s good to use him as an objective helper. On this particular album, he didn’t really play much, so he can come and listen and say, “Okay, what about this way or that way?” And then Gwen, she gets really into the vocals and she works a lot with those guys on trying to harmonize certain parts of the album. And it sounds different from the album, because on the album she harmonizes everything with herself. She had like ten tracks or whatever going of herself. But live, she’s really good with the two of those other guys getting the harmonies right and rehearsing them.

Your new single, “Hey Baby,” is about the groupie scene. Is that something you’ve experienced firsthand?
Stefani: I have a weird point of view on that because usually groupies are these girls that are going after the guys in the band to seduce them or be with them so they can tell everybody they were with them. That is something that’s been going on forever. But since I’m the female in the band, they can’t really do that to me. So it’s just a weird perspective to have because I don’t really have guys coming up to me trying to hook up, yet I see it happening with the guys all the time. So I just wanted to write a song about a fun version of being backstage and seeing all of the stuff that goes on back there.

Your boyfriend, Gavin Rossdale, is the front man for Bush. Is it weird knowing that the kind of thing that you see backstage also goes on with Bush?

Stefani: Of course. I go out with them once in a while, and I get to see it firsthand, and it’s crazy. But music is so powerful, and it’s such a gift, and it just really makes people react funny. People really love having music in their lives. And for girls, music has a sexuality to it. So everything kind of all emerges together, and they can’t help themselves.

Your music is definitely fun and lively.

Is partying a major part of the No Doubt experience?
Kanal: Yes, but moderation is extremely important, and you just kind of learn as you go. You just start to realize that you’re going to exhaust yourself if you’re not careful.

Where do you see yourselves at this point in your career? Do you think Rock Steady will pave the way to the next evolution of No Doubt?
Kanal: We just take each record as it comes, and on this record we got to do everything we wanted to do. We’re not the kind of band that writes music on the road. We need life experience, and we need to feel the urge to create music build up before we can do anything new. So it’s really hard to say what’s gonna happen next. Right now we’re just so excited to go out and share these songs with people, that’s all we’re really thinking about. I don’t know how long we’re going to keep going, but right now things are extremely good.

Filling Out the Sound

Even with four members of No Doubt playing at least some keyboards, several songs on Rock Steady had too many elements to comfortably pull off live, so the band decided to incorporate backing tracks into certain parts of their show. They decided that rather than trying to trigger samples from a sampler, it would be more effective to play the supplementary tracks back onstage using a portable multitrack recorder — in this case, a 24-bit Tascam MX-2424 (see Fig. A). “We actually play to the track live,” says Tom Dumont. “We just press play on the machine and play along. It kind of just fills out the sound, and we use it as a click track.”

The band actually uses two MX-2424s synced together, each with the identical tracks on it. “The idea is if one breaks down, they just flip a switch and go to the second one,” says Dumont. “ The cool thing is, if both break down, we can still finish the song out. It’s not like the whole song is running on the thing. The core of drums, bass, and guitar will still be going strong.”

The band sifted through the original master tapes, found the tracks they wanted to include, and mixed them into stereo pairs on the MX-2424. “We went through the record and picked out parts that really couldn’t humanly be played live,” says bassist Tony Kanal. “And those are the only things that actually go to sequencing. The rest of the stuff is played live.”

As is often the case in backing-track situations, most of the band does not have to play to a click. Instead, they simply follow the tempo of drummer Adrian Young, who hears it through a set of headphones. “So far it’s been pretty good,” observes Dumont. “Adrian tells us that he can feel us kind of pulling fast a little bit. But for the most part, we keep it in mind to stay pretty locked. The songs we do are pretty groove oriented, so we can just lock in and go. We’ve talked about trying to pull the tempo up maybe 2 or 4 bpm on those tracks to make it a little better live.”

With thanks to Mike McKeaney of ND Universe

With her Minnie Mouse voice, crop tops and Indian-influenced make-up, Gwen Stefani became an unlikely American icon. Yet, amid all the acclaim, the lead singer of No Doubt has been tortured by self-loathing and broken relationships. By Emma Forrest

Every so often there is a celebrity so very beautiful and so very blonde that she inspires not only gossip but also lookalikes. In the Forties, factory owners requested that Veronica Lake change her signature eye-covering tresses because they were causing accidents in the workplace. In the Eighties, concerned mothers, the Far Right and even the Pope voiced their disgust at a new singing sensation called Madonna, who was causing girls to wear bras as outerwear and crucifixes hanging down in barely existent cleavage.

In 1996, a ska-tinged Californian band broke the charts worldwide after a decade of trying. Propelled by the hit Just a Girl and the ballad Don’t Speak, No Doubt sold more than 11 million records in the US alone.

While bassist Tony Kanal, drummer Adrian Young and guitarist Tom Dumont watched in bemusement, their singer, Gwen Stefani, became America’s sweetheart.

Right now, scrunched up on a sofa in Manhattan’s Four Seasons hotel, Stefani herself looks like a drag queen. ‘Yep, me and my make-up artist are rocking the drag-queen thing at the moment,’ she admits. Her once blonde hair is in cerise corn-rows, tight against her scalp. Her eyebrows have been removed and replaced with stark black lines. There is a glittery tear painted in pencil beneath her eye. Her lipstick is purple red, with a thick black outline. Her skin and eyes are dead. She speaks slowly, almost painfully, as if struggling to stay awake. Her sentences trail off, as she tucks her feet under her and snuggles into an oversize silver coat.

For an acknowledged beauty, she looks pretty terrible, as if she’s been sleeping in her make-up for weeks.

Not like a person about to go the gym, which is how she signs off each conversation we go on to have. She looks like a person unhappy in her heart, a beautiful girl wanting to look in the mirror and have visual confirmation of how disgusting she feels inside. Later listening to the tape of our conversation, I can’t help noticing how many times she says the word ‘ugly’.

Acute anecdote will begin, ‘This sweetest little girl came up to me all excited and told me how much she loved me and how beautiful she thinks I am’ and will end with the coda ‘which is crazy, because I was feeling so ugly.’

‘I remember waking up the morning of my 29th birthday and I knew I was going out to dinner with the band, so I spent an hour scrubbing myself, trying to get the ugliness off. And I dressed accordingly, in a stretch waistband skirt because I felt so fat. Then it turned out that they had planned a huge surprise birthday party. And I had to be fat and ugly and turn 29 in front of everyone!’

No Doubt’s new album, Return of Saturn, is based, she says, on the notion that for the first 29 years of someone’s life (the same time it takes the planet Saturn to orbit the sun), a person is only beginning to understand themselves.

‘I thought, “Hmm, maybe that’s what I’m going through. Maybe that’s why I feel so crap.” ‘

I ask how the crapness manifested itself. ‘I was not happy on a daily basis. Before if I was depressed, I would eat ice-cream. But in the past few years that hasn’t worked. I’ve felt in a rut and sluggish. I definitely came off tour saying don’t look at me. I felt like an old tennis shoe, all used up. I still get embarrassed about sitting and singing in the studio in front of the band, who I’ve known for 13 years. I was like “don’t look at me”.’

The less she wanted people to see her, the more extreme her make-up became, until it was practically Kabuki. The first thing she did when she turned 30 was have braces put in. She wore them proudly to the MTV awards. She didn’t even need them.

‘I turned 30 and I just wanted to be a kid again.’

Trying to picture her without the dark lipliner and corn-rows, I ask her if she would be prepared to look bad in order just to look different. She grins through teeth tinged grey by the reflection of her blue-red lipstick.

‘Lots of times I do that. I mean, braces, for goodness sake. I just thought, “F- it. I look bad. So what?” ‘

Stefani sighs. ‘I definitely was carrying an extra 10lb the past two years. I didn’t know why it was there, but I knew I couldn’t get rid of it. I think it was depression? or protection.’

A thought strikes her. ‘The night Tony broke up with me. I put braids in my hair.’

Guitarist Tom Dumont sits in on our first meeting, ostensibly because the band is keen to be recognised as a musical outfit rather than mere back-up for Stefani. But he is also there to deflect questions about her complicated relationship with bassist Tony Kanal and her current turbulent on-off romance with Bush frontman Gavin Rossdale.

She and London-born Kanal were together for seven years before he broke up with her. It was Kanal’s Indian mother who inspired Gwen’s notorious bindi fixation. The singer is not supposed to speak about the aftermath of the relationship that inspired their breakthrough album, Tragic Kingdom, in 1997. Like Lindsay Buckingham to Stefani’s Stevie Nicks, Kanal spent the past two-and-a-half years on the road, performing songs about how he had all but destroyed her.

If Stefani looks haggard, Kanal is a picture of bullish good health. There is something of a young Brando quality about him. In a Details magazine interview published after they had just split up, Stefani had revealed that she still pounced on Kanal in the tour bus bed and tried to get him to make out with her. His response? ‘Get off me!’

‘Imagine, he was my best friend. Tony was so much more than just my lover. I depended on him for my happiness. When he confessed that he needed more space and that he didn’t think we were going to make it? I thought, “You can’t say that to me. You’re my best friend. You’re taking my life away from me.” ‘

Kanal, for his part, when I asked him later that afternoon about the potential difficulties of touring with an ex-girlfriend said, ‘The greatness of the songs outweighed any weirdness.’

Dumont becomes uncomfortable when Stefani begins to describe how a temporary break up with Rossdale inspired the new album’s strongest song and debut single, Ex-Girlfriend, with its heartfelt, hopeless chorus, ‘I kind of always knew I’d end up your ex-girlfriend. I hope I hold a special place with the rest of them.’

Stefani is surprisingly frank about what she sees as her shortcomings. ‘I’m insecure and jealous and paranoid. I just want to be worshipped. I just want to be cuter than them and everyone else. Girls get so paranoid about the fact that there were people before them that their boyfriend could possibly have cared about. I don’t want to look like anyone else and I don’t want to be on a list.’

There’s something especially awful about watching a strong, sassy pony of a girl break her heart over a man, and exhilarating as the tune is, the lyrics are incredibly raw. Another standout track is Simple Kind of Life. A paean to a suburban, married life, it begins with the admission that ‘All these simple things are simply too complicated for my life’ and ends with the plaintive whisper, ‘You look like you’d make a good dad.’

The songs from Tragic Kingdom provided a hook-laden, pop savvy antidote to the American musical landscape at the time. Bush, a third-rate Nirvana who found massive Stateside success due, in large part, to Rossdale’s pin-up boy image. The two bands were diametric musical opposites, but in 1997 No Doubt agreed to go on tour as Bush’s supporting act. Stefani and Rossdale became lovers.

‘We were on the same label,’ says Kanal, ‘and they thought it was good exposure for us, which it was. And Gwen’s really glad we did it,’ he whispers slyly.

Of the emotional menage a trois that resulted from Stefani and Rossdale’s touring relationship, she says, ‘I’m not gonna say it’s been easy. But me and Gavin want it to work so much. To tell the truth, I’m way less cool about his ex-girlfriends than he is about Tony.’

Asked in a recent interview if he was keen to have kids with Stefani, Rossdale responded, ‘Well, you really do have to find the right person before you do that.’ The implication being that a 30-year-old woman with pink hair and braces on her teeth might not be the one.

Between our first and second interview, I bump into Stefani and Kanal during New York fashion week. They are front-row centre at Vivienne Westwood. Stefani is wearing a silver leopard-print dress that goes down to her ankles, up to her neck and covers her arms. It looks pretty itchy, and fashion writers nearby turn their noses up at it. But the photographers crowd round her, snapping for so long that the show is delayed.

‘Who was the girl with the pink hair?’ asks a woman who had rushed to take her photo.

Gwen Stefani from No Doubt.

‘Will my daughter be proud of me?’

Yes. I say hello to Kanal, who seems suspicious as to why I’m there. Then I wave to Stefani.

‘Oh, hey! Hey, how are you? Tony, look who it is!’

Today she is all exclamation, whereas the night before she had been sentences half finished, half hearted. Of course, this could be a different kind of melancholy – one that dresses to the nines for high-profile appearances at shows, who waves and smiles, and greets the press with good grace.

Stefani has always been very accessible, a cartoony kind of icon rather than sex symbol, as charming and tame as a Blackpool postcard. At the beginning of her fame in 1997, Stefani dominated MTV with the same rock-hard body,

Minnie Mouse voice, strong, Italian face and Lana Turner bleach job as Madonna. But where Madonna was then in her genteel, pseudo-British phase, Stefani was a pogoing, sweating, crop-top-wearing Tasmanian Devil of a performer. She made her own punk-meets-Vegas-showgirl costumes and wore a trademark bindi on her forehead. Everywhere they played,

Stefani would look into the audience and see little girls (‘babies!’ she calls them) dressed just like her. Madonna had left her young fans long ago in pursuit of respect, post-feminist theory, kinky sex as artistic expression.

Looking at her smiling for the press, I was reminded of a question I’d asked her at the Four Seasons. What did she think of the dichotomy of being rock’s number one Love Goddess, adored by the crowd, yet unlucky in personal relationships. She had blinked her dark eyes several times until the panda make-up began to smudge. For a moment the glittery fake, drag-queen tear beneath her eye looked alarmingly real.

The continuing story of No Doubt… are they happy now?

In November 1995 when No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom was just a few months old, BAM magazine chose the Orange County-based quartet to grace the cover of our semi-annual “Local Music” issue. Now, a year and a half later, No Doubt are back; not only on the cover of BAM but back in town for a two-night stint at their hometown arena, the Anaheim Pond. By Jennifer Schwartz

Needless to say, a lot has happened since the Fall of ‘95. From Details to Rolling Stone, the members of No Doubt have become fodder for a media frenzy for over a year. It’s been almost impossible to avoid stories about the cute little band from Orange County who plugged away for years and years in clubs throughout Southern California, until finally landing a record deal. And as the story goes, after signing with Interscope, they release a self-titled debut which dies on the vine and they are predictably released from their contract. No Doubt are labeless and nearly hopeless as they withstand drastic line-up changes, including the loss of main songwriter Eric Stefani, leadsinger Gwen’s brother. But the band perseveres and are subsequently picked up by Trauma Records (which, incidentally, has a distribution agreement with Interscope). After eight long years of existence No Doubt releases Tragic Kingdom with only humble expectations. It sells 10 million copies worldwide and hits No. 1 on the Billboard album charts for nine weeks. But you probably know this already.

You’ve also probably heard the sad tale of woe regarding the relationship between Gwen Stefani and bassist Tony Kanal, and how their messy break-up fueled the grief-stricken Stefani to reach deep in her wounded soul and cathartically express via lyrics the steps of her recovery in songs such as “Spiderwebs,” “Happy Now,” and, of course, “Don’t Speak.” And just like that omnipresent hit, you’ve probably heard it before, many times over.

“People are probably sick of reading the same story,” states guitarist Tom Dumont, regarding the press angle that provides the basis for nearly every No Doubt story.

“You have to realize we broke up like two and a half years ago,” sighs Gwen, proving she herself is ready to move on.

So consider this the second part of the No Doubt saga, picking up where everyone else has left off.

Since their super-sonic rocket ride to the upper echelons of the show-biz stratosphere, we find these four Orange County natives on the third night of their third national tour for Tragic Kingdom. This time, they’re headlining enorma-domes in cities across the country.

“We had a choice,” says Tom, while comfortably reclining in one of the upholstered chairs of the band’s luxurious touring vessel. “We were either gonna do a stripped-down club tour or Spinal Tap. We opted for Spinal Tap.”

What Tom is referring to is the grand-scale traveling circus they’ve amassed to drag with them across the country. And they’ve spared no expense. Packed up in five big-rig trucks is a stage set created by the Cirque de Soleil designers. The elaborate backdrop looks like something from an Anaheim nightmare. To best explain it, remember the scene in the Wizard of Oz where Dorothy is at one moment merrily skipping down the yellow-brick road when she turns a corner to find herself in a haunted apple-tree forest? OK, now replace Dorothy with Gwen, ruby slippers with Doc Martin’s, and replace the evil apple trees with even more menacing orange trees, and there you have it.

But it’s not just lavish sets that make this outing different. The band themselves are traveling in a vehicle fit for royalty. This ultimate behemoth transport features stained glass windows, two Sony big-screen monitors, a state-of-the-art sound system, a well-stocked kitchenette with brass fixtures and sleeping compartments, each with its very own TV monitor.

Joining the band members is an entourage that includes not only the crew and an occasional boyfriend/girlfriend, but a personal trainer, a private security guard for Gwen, two back-up musicians Gabriel McNair and Stephen Bradley, and Sherry Leiker whose job it is to make each backstage dressing room a soothing and comfortable environment.

It’s here backstage at the Big Sky Pavilion in Phoenix, AZ, in one of the ambient-rich rooms filled with incense, candles and tapestries tacked up on the walls where the members of No Doubt – which in addition to the aforementioned includes drummer Adrian Young – graciously take time out of their hectic schedule to discuss this new tour, their astounding success and, most importantly, how their lives have changed since becoming the pop darlings of the late ’90s.

It goes without saying that such sudden success and media attention will dramatically change the lifestyles of anyone involved. But when asked what has been the most dramatic change, the band uniformly agrees the strains of nearly two years of constant touring has taken its toll on their personal and physical lives. Most importantly, they all miss their home.

“The relationship with my family is kinda strange now,” says Adrian rather pensively. “When I left to go out on tour for this album, I still needed help paying my rent. Now, I’ve become more of an adult in a lot of ways. I’m like this independent ‘man’ or whatever. So when I come back home, my parents want everything to be the same. But I’m not the same.”

“So many things have changed I could just make a list,” sighs Gwen in a tone barely above a whisper. “It’s [when I go home] that I can really see the changes. Like I’ll be shopping at my local supermarket and some full-on chola holding her six-year-old daughter will come up to me and say, ‘Hey, what’s up Gwen? Girl, you’re cool.’ And I’ll be thinking, ‘How does this woman know about my band?’ It’s really cool that all kinds of people are totally into it, but it’s just so different. I never used to go into a grocery store and have everyone who works there know who I am. That’s weird.”

Tony also agrees that adjusting to life on the road has been the biggest change. “It’s a whole new lifestyle,” he says. “I don’t really have a home anymore. We go back to Orange County for like a week or two and it takes just that long to depressurize and get settled. Then we’re off again.”

Sometime late last year rumors started surfacing about the band. And no, not about Gwen’s romance with Bush singer and labelmate Gavin Rossdale (we’ll leave that to the tabloids), but about how the band were being over-worked by their record label and management. According to insider gossip, the band members were being worked so hard that they were all on the brink of collapse. But when the subject of being exploited was broached, all agreed that nobody pushed them as hard as they pushed themselves.

“All decisions go through us,” says Tony firmly. And within minutes of talking to him, it becomes evident that, for Tony, No Doubt is a hands-on project. From photo approval to tour planning, he’s the one driving this bus. “Of course,” he adds, “the record company would like us to keep touring so that we’ll sell more records, but before doing anything, we all decide if we’re healthy enough and if it’s something we all really want to do. We always have the final vote.”

On this tour, however, the band have slowed the pace. Actually, they had to; they had no choice. Since last year, Gwen has suffered from severe strain to her vocal chords resulting in a slew of canceled appearances. For a time, she was even forced to refrain from any conversation. Don’t speak, indeed. In hopes of avoiding further damage to her now-frail voice, the tour was routed so they would play four nights, then take one night off. As opposed to their previous No Doubt non-stop work ethic, which had the band performing up to nine consecutive nights.

“We decided to make this tour more of a summer vacation,” states Adrian with an easy smile. “We take time to relax during the day and play rock ‘n’ roll at night. It’s definitely to preserve Gwen’s voice, but we want to have a little fun, too.”

Regarding her vocal condition, Gwen claims it is much improved, but adds: “Although my voice is getting better, it’s still a little rough. I don’t know why this had to happen, it just blows my mind. I think I’m doing everything I can to make it better, but sometimes I just can’t help it. I talked to my doctor and he said, ‘Gwen, I know you’re gonna be up there onstage and you’re gonna want to give it your all. But you must hold back. I try, but it’s hard… Sometimes, though, I catch myself and bring it down.

“I was never a regimented sort of person,” she admits. “but suddenly I find myself having to do all these things on a daily basis, like using my humidifier, drinking tea and all that stuff. I have to admit, it’s really annoying. But any person who was doing what I do would have to do all that stuff, too,” she says, as though she’s justifying a “weakness.” “Even the Vandals singer [Dave Quackenbush] has had surgery on his vocal chords, like, twice.”

It’s no coincidence that the Vandals singer is cited here. For most of this tour, No Doubt have invited their fellow hometown punk band to join them. Although it might seem like No Doubt were doing a noble thing by bringing this long-suffering band who, like No Doubt, have spent years slugging it out in the underground without much commercial and financial success, actually, the decision was a little less admirable.

“Taking the Vandals was purely a selfish move,” giggles Gwen. “We took them on tour with us just so we could be thoroughly entertained every night.” And anyone who isn’t familiar with the Vandals probably wouldn’t understand their sense of humor. Now, thanks to No Doubt, audiences across the country will get a glimpse into the wild ‘n’ wacky antics of the Vandals. For this Phoenix show, in fact, one Vandal member delightfully mooned the audience, which consisted of mostly screaming pre-teen girls and their mortified parents.

“But I feel sorry for the Vandals,” she confesses, “They’re playing all the wrong punk cards. It’s, like, totally illegal for the Vandals to be on tour with No Doubt. It’s so wrong. It’s like ‘pop band plays with punk band.’ I’m sure that when they play club shows on their nights off, they’re gonna get beat up by the punkers. ‘You’re playing with No Doubt?! You’re a bunch of sell outs!’” she says in mock male voice as she throws a punch into the air. “But they love it. [Guitarist] Warren [Fitzgerald] said to me, ‘This is so weird, everyone, including the audience, is so nice. Nobody spits on me.’”

Speaking of credibility, many bands who emerge from the underground and infiltrate the mainstream are often met with a tremendous backlash from longtime fans. So when the syrupy-sweet ballad “Don’t Speak” was chosen as a single, did it come with any reservations? Did they consider the fact that they might possibly lose their already respectable alterna-rock success by growing too fast? Did they fear that a departure from their ska-punk formula could further alienate the more hard-edged fans?

“We gave it a lot of thought,” Tom replies, regarding the selection of the single. “There were some of those apprehensions. But there were a couple of things that, for me, made it OK. The first one is we’ve always played slow songs in our set. Even on our first album there’s a sad, ballad-type song. Besides, we’ve always had this philosophy: We play whatever we feel like playing.”

“And we’ve always played the ballads live,” Gwen chimes in. “It was always a very intense part of the show. Even though the audience likes to go off to our punk songs, they never seemed to mind that we would break down and do something that was more slow and intimate. They’d get into it. I’ve always felt fortunate because a lot of bands we play with could never get away with doing anything like that.”

“Stylistically, we switch between genres a lot,” explains Tom. “And doing a sugar-coated song is fun. There’s this kinda campy element to it, too. Kinda cheesy, but in a fun way. Having Gwen in the band obviously gives us a more feminine approach. And we’ve never been afraid of that feminine side of us. Now, I don’t mean to pigeon-hole femininity with ballads, but for some reason most of us think of punk rock as very masculine and ballads as more feminine.”

“Also a song is a song,” asserts Gwen confidently. “If it’s fast or slow, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s good and people connect with it. A song can be really intense without having that unka-unka drum beat,” she says, flailing her arms as though she’s playing drums with a hardcore band.

“Actually,” she continues, ” ‘Don’t Speak’ is an older song that was re-written. It used to be more upbeat, more of a ’70s rock-type thing. The lyrics were ‘Oh I love you so much, everything’s so good.’ But then Tony and I broke up and it turned into a sad song.

“I can see how you can look at our band and think it’s an unusual song for us, but you’ve gotta look back on all the songs that were written for this record that didn’t make it. If you did, then you’d see that every song is weird and none of them go together,” she says rolling her eyes and smiling.

Regarding the accusations of selling out, it seems that No Doubt have, so far, been able to rise above the backlash.

“It’s a lot less of a backlash then I thought we were gonna get,” admits Adrian.

“We never claimed to be a punk band in the first place,” interjects Tony. “We’ve always been a rock band that mixes in ska and hardcore and reggae and whatever. We were only punk in that we did things our own way. And, really, that’s what punk is all about, doing things your way and going against the grain. Punk rock is not just playing one style of music with one hardcore beat on the drums and that’s all you can do.”

Tom adds: “A lot of bands are constantly defending themselves in the press trying to prove that they’re punk. To me, I’d rather make good music – or what I think is good music – and make that the priority. We make the music that we believe in and we feel that we’re being true to ourselves. That’s all the validation we need.”

“Credibility used to be more important to me,” remarks Tony. “It’s nice to feel you have the respect from critics and other bands and all that kind of stuff. But for me, what’s more important now is integrity and maintaining that same integrity we always have.”

“We’re still looked upon by this small but very vocal minority as not being punk and all that other stuff,” says Tom. “By this time, though, it beads off us like water on a waxed car.”

In the next few weeks, the big trucks, the crew, the entourage and the band themselves will all roll into town for their jubilant return to Anaheim. What will be running through their minds as they walk onstage at their hometown arena? Will they be thinking about how they’re showing up those who’ve ever doubted them? Or perhaps now their parents will finally realize that they weren’t merely wasting time for all those years? Nope. Gwen, Tony, Adrian and Tom will only be thinking about putting on another solid set of non-stop music fanfare, just like they’ve always done.

And just as she’s so naturally inclined, Gwen will make sure that everyone in the entire auditorium from the front row to the nose-bleed seats are thoroughly entertained. But since this is their hometown, they’ll also be concerned about their friends and family.

“[Playing the Pond] in some way is gonna be the greatest high,” states Adrian earnestly. “But in some way it’s gonna suck because everyone we know is gonna be there. It’ll be just too much for one brain to handle. And we’re gonna have to accommodate every single person we’ve ever known. Whether it’s through conversation, or through backstage passes or the right seats, inevitably somebody’s gonna be unhappy. It’ll be a stressful night, but once we get on stage, everything will be fine.”

“It’ll probably be one of the biggest…uh, what would you call it? Accomplishments?” claims Gwen. “I still remember when [the Pond] was being built, Tony and I would drive by it and say, ‘Hey, one day we’re gonna play there.’ Of course, we were totally joking. But when we played there opening for Bush we couldn’t even believe it. This time, it’s our show.”

“It’s a pretty powerful feeling to do two nights, too,” Adrian adds proudly. “In 20 years, we’ll all be able to look back and remember that we did it. That’s fuckin’ great!”

But what will they do after this tour? Currently on their fifth single, “Sunday Morning,” with its infectious melody and up-tempo beat, it’ll undoubtedly give the band enough juice for yet another tour. They’re considering taking the show to the Far East and back through Europe again. But what about a new album? Any concerns about how they’ll follow-up such a successful debut?

“I’m not worried about it,” states Gwen flatly.

“There’s no failing from here on out.” Adrian interrupts. “Sure, we’d all like another hit record, but I don’t think any of us are gonna need intensive therapy just because our next album only sells 500,000 copies. We’ll be OK.”

“Plus,” adds Gwen, “I think we all feel really satisfied. If it all ended tomorrow, I think we’d all be happy, because after 10 years of playing together, it would be a really good ending. We’ve gotten more than we’ve ever wanted.

“Besides,” she laughs, “we didn’t think this record was even gonna come out, so actually, we just feel lucky to be able to do another one.”

Witness the Main Street Eclectical Parade when No Doubt hit the Pond on May 31st and June 1st.

Transcribed by Phil Lomboy for NoDoubt.com ]]> http://www.nxdscrapbook.com/article/bam-usa-2/feed 0 http://www.nxdscrapbook.com/article/rolling-stone-usa http://www.nxdscrapbook.com/article/rolling-stone-usa#comments Thu, 01 May 1997 19:52:07 +0000 Christina http://www.nxdscrapbook.com/?p=418

Snap! Crackle! Pop!

No Doubt thought they were ready for anything. Then they got famous and suddenly their singer was no longer just a girl. By Chris Heath.

Gwen Stefani tilts her head down, and her eyes look up, her lips purse, and sometimes an unwatched hand fingers her bare midriff, her expression is somewhere between that of a coy teenage “shall we?” and a cartoon bird looking up, up and away above the wall, wondering if maybe – just maybe – it could fly that high. Wondering if this time it’ll escape its garden prison and flutter to freedom. Pop music history is made up of complicated combinations of dates and troubles and events and dreams and miseries and ambitions (and we will discover plenty of these in the tangles tale of No Doubt), but it’s also made up of single, momentary glances that we will never forget, of the occasional flicker in some singer’s eye.

Most of the time, Gwen Stefani seems exactly as she says she is: The girl from Orange County, the one who grew up liking makeup and “The Sound Of Music” and pretty clothes and girlie hairstyles. The girl who still lives at home and who readily admits that consequently she hasn’t grown up in all the ways that harsh adult independence requires. The girl who never realized she wanted to be a singer until long after her brother Eric had persuaded her to stand on the stage and had imagined “Gwen Stefani, pop star” into existence. The girl who is still so nervous about her spelling that she carries a little computer spell-check machine in her bag. The girl who was in a pop group for six years before she realized she might have a few firm feelings of her own that she wanted to sing about. The girl who worried about her weight and says mean things about herself. The girl who is devoted to the idea of No Doubt, the band, and who is nervous – especially in these new days of “Hey, there’s the blond girl over there!” fame – of sticking her head above the parapet. The girl who treats her success as a happy mystery and forever reminds people that two years ago the band was on the verge of quitting “because we were afraid we were going to become losers if we kept on.” The girl who the callow cultural commentators call (and it’s meant to be mean) “the anti-Courtney Love.” The girl who announces in just about every interview that if this all ended tomorrow, she’d think, “Wow, that was great!”

But there is another Gwen Stefani – less modest, less reticent and a thousand times more than a pop star. It seems to me that this is a Gwen Stefani that she herself may only vaguely be aware of, and that is part of the charm. This other Gwen Stefani is the one who turns up now and then under the gaze of the video camera or in a crisp moment of control at the front of the concert stage, and who rules all of this by instinct. The one who is a master of naive manipulation. You never actually meet her, but you see her. The one with the head down, eyes up, world watching.

A quick trip to the Holy Land part 1

No Doubt know little of Israel, but Israel knows something of No Doubt. Following the slow American triumph of their Tragic Kingdom LP (released in October 1995, it finally reached No. 1 in December 1996 and has sold 6 million copies), it has been warmly greeted worldwide as a record that speaks the international language of pop. And in all of these countries, No Doubt’s third American hit, “Don’t Speak,” is the sad sing-along ballad of now. When No Doubt wheel their luggage through Tel Aviv customs, it may well be the sight of Gwen Stefani that sets off the uniformed official, but by the time he finds the words, it is to No Doubt’s bass player, Tony Kanal, that he delivers his offering.

“Hush, hush, darling,” the beefy Israeli croons.

Tony smiles – Wow! We’re in Israel, and they know the words to our song! – but it is not like him to linger over the full irony of this moment. He and Gwen Stefani were a couple for seven years, and “Don’t Speak” is one of several No Doubt songs that articulate the heartbreak at the relationship’s end. When they were written, back in Orange County when No Doubt were known by only a few thousand fans of the California ska scene, those words – hush, hush, darling – were addressed by Gwen to Tony. Better not dwell on it. (Yet.)

Let’s meet the band why don’t we?

Gwen Stefani is the singer. Her hair is dyed blond (it’s naturally light brown). Sometimes people mistake her for Madonna, and sometimes this annoys her because when she thinks of Madonna, she thinks of sex. And – this is the point – when she thinks of herself, she does not. Internet gossip asserts that she is (1) pregnant, (2) engaged to her boyfriend, Bush’s Gavin Rossdale, and (3) a transsexual. She insists that none of these is true. (A short Gwen Stefani anecdote: When she was 5, she was in ballet class and needed to pee really bad. She was too embarrassed to say it. So she peed on the floor. She was in tears when her mother arrived. “Isn’t that so sad?” Gwen says.)

Tony Kanal is the bass player. His hair used to be blond, but now it’s dark. He is Indian and has a British passport. Each time he re-enters the U.S., they pull him over and quiz him. They can’t figure out what he is. (These days it ends differently. “Then they say, ‘What band are you in? No Doubt? Are you the one with the horns?’ “) For a while he was the band’s manager. He is famous within the band for being excessively anal. (A short Tony Kanal anecdote: One day, Tony, who was sending out band mail, complained to bandmate Tom Dumont that the stamps wouldn’t stick. “Show me what you’re doing,” Tom said. Tony picked up a stamp, licked it, and licked it again, and licked it again. “That was the perfect description of his personality,” says Tom. “He wanted to make it stick so bad, all the glue came off.”)

Tom Dumont is the guitar player. He fiddles with his nose incessantly (Gwen sometimes complains about this to No Doubt audiences). “It’s not boogers I’m going for; it just itches,” he explains. He doesn’t look much like a pop star until he puts on his sleek yellow-tinted glasses just before he steps up onstage. He plays a flying-V guitar. One day he will pull me aside to lovingly show off his guitar in detail. “I just like the sharp angles, and they’re not cool,” he will say, and his pride is particularly eloquent. (A short Tom Dumont anecdote: In the old days, he used to tell Adrian Young that if they sold, you know, 3 million records, he’d get a tattoo. A few months ago he realized that he was going to have to break his word.)

Adrian Young is the drummer. His hair used to be dark, but now it’s blond. He once dreamed that vampires were killing him and that Starsky and Hutch were trying to save him, but they couldn’t. He claims never to have masturbated to orgasm. He has the old No Doubt logo tattooed on his upper right thigh. He used to be the most party-friendly member of No Doubt, but he has been trying to curtail his drinking since his girlfriend told him he was starting to smell like an old man. (A short Adrian Young anecdote: He used to have red devil horns sculpted from his own hair, an idea he took from an extra on the “Just A Girl” video shoot. One day he got an abusive letter from the original Horn Boy, accusing him of being a fraud: You claim to be part of the dark side, when you’re just a big fake, you’re just a big rock star. If you have any integrity left, you would write me back, even if you think I’m an asshole. So Adrian wrote back: “First of all, you are an asshole” – pointing out that he’d always given the kid credit. But awhile later, in Amsterdam, he asked for Tony’s clippers. His horn days were over.)

A quick trp to the Holy Land part 2

The night before their Tel Aviv concert, Gwen Stefani stays in her room, writing in her journal about how she doesn’t have any self-control. And then she turns on the Holy Land TV and discovers the seer and savior of our vicious, uncertain times talking about the very same thing. “It inspired me,” she says later. Oprah, that is.

The day after their Tel Aviv concert, No Doubt visit the Dead Sea, guarded by a man carrying a small Uzi. The men of the band float on top of the sea; Gwen refuses, blaming “one of those real premenstrual headaches.” At the Dead Sea gift shop, she buys a present for her boyfriend. Some glycerine soap. Afterward we drive into Jerusalem and visit the holiest sites of Judaism and Christianity. Leaving the Wailing Wall, Gwen is asked for her autograph. On the Mount of Olives, they all, except for Tom, ride a camel. Gwen is wearing a strange outfit for a day off around one of the world’s principal military hot spots and religious hubs: a camouflage-pattern jacket and, beneath it, a light-blue top that repeats two motifs over and over – a brown cartoon teddy bear and the red-ink phrase FUCK OFF! (These are gifts from her boyfriend: “He’s like my stylist now. He hates the way I dress. Well, he didn’t like it when I had my yellow vinyl bondage pants.”) When she is on the camel, three middle-aged men chat with her, their banter a lazy mixture of flirtation and condescension, then one of them hollers: “Where did you get that stupid outfit?” When she dismounts, she spots something on the Mount of Olives sidewalk. She points it out to Tony. A used condom. He videos it.

The night of their Tel Aviv concert, there is no stage set, just a few microphone stands festooned with flowers. They play most of Tragic Kingdom, a couple of older songs, a snatch of the Specials’ “Ghost Town.” No Doubt’s next single, “Sunday Morning,” which erupts delightfully from its opening harmonies into a thumping combination of Motown and pop cheese, is especially spirited. (Anyone who can stand onstage in 1997 proudly performing a song with woah-oah backing vocals – keen aficionados of this harshly neglected form will already be thinking of Kim Wilde’s “Kids In America” – deserves your careful consideration.) The greatest moment of both pop bazoom and Stefani- star theater comes during “Just A Girl.” These are the words Gwen wrote in 1994 about being surrounded by boys. The phrase “just a girl” made her laugh, and she asked her friends and her sister for everyday examples of the way girls were patronized. The recorded version works through simple, sustained sarcasm – I’m just a girl, all pretty and petite / So don’t let me have any rights – but onstage the song explodes. Halfway through, she asks for the boys – just the boys – to sing along with her. The she gives them their line: I’m just a girl! And they sing it. Funny. Cute. Next she asks for the girls. Or as she put sit, scrunching up her body and voice in an imitation of insecure femininity, “What about all the sweet, cute, little girls? Sweet, little, tiny, sweet girls. You want to sing?” And she gives them their line: Fuck you, I’m a girl!

As she leads them back into the song’s center with the lines “I’m just a girl in the world ’cause that’s all that…” – her voice begins to erupt – “…you’ll let me be,” the theater explodes. This is not sophisticated, gender-liberating art, but as pop music it is rousing and potent.

When “Just A Girl” was becoming No Doubt’s first hit, they played a show at the Costa Mesa, Calif., Virgin Megastore. Gwen drove there with her mother. “Are you going to say those curse words onstage?” her mother asked. She’d invited some relatives down.

Gwen had been thinking about it already. “I wasn’t planning on it,” she said, “but you never know what’s going to happen.” But when she was onstage, the whole thing welled up inside her – her mother not wanting her to do it because she’s a girl and it would be inappropriate… and as if anyone could have stopped her then… Oh, my God.

“Fuck you, I’m a girl! Fuck you, I’m a girl!”

And it felt so great.

Gwen’s mom was so mad. She didn’t speak to her daughter for a week, not even when Gwen left to go on tour, in tears at the airport.

But Gwen Stefani still sings the song, and she still sings it the way she wants.

The unfairness of life, etc.

The problems that failure brings at least have the advantage of familiarity; most of us have a lifetime in their company. The problems of success are less expected, especially as they trip you at a time when you expect to be floating on the cushion of your own achievement and happiness.

The principal problem in the land of No Doubt is simple to state and nearly impossible to resolve: Four people have fought together to make all this happen; most of the time it is only one of them who is feted and fawned over and praised. In Tel Aviv I watch the other members seethe as they line up together and a photographer comes closer and closer until, quite obviously, only Gwen is within his viewfinder. In London, after Gwen has lost her voice, I hear them explode as it is explained that if Gwen doesn’t attend their press and radio interviews, nobody will be happy. (“Has it got to the point,” Tom rages, “where we mean nothing? Yes or no? If Gwen doesn’t speak, we mean nothing?”)

The reasons for this are simple and complicated, good and bad. She is the singer. She writes many of the lyrics. She is a girl. She is blond. She is… head down, eyes up. And so people photograph the four of them and crop three of them out. People talk to the four of them and print only what she says. (Me, too, to a degree. I talk to each band member at great length, but as soon as I start writing, it is her voice that shouts the loudest.) “I understand it intellectually,” says Tom, who seems the most entertained by all this but who also is fairly unashamed of the discomfort it causes him. “But I just feel like I’m second-class, I’m shit compared to her. I feel I’m just a lesser person, I don’t look as good, and I’m not as bitchin’ as she is in everyone else’s eyes. I think a certain part of me – the reason I wanted to be a rock star when I was a kid, I thought that would be a way for people to like me. And now that I get here, I’m not getting the payoff that I was always expecting.”

“Nobody understands what it’s like, and I do understand,” says Gwen. “And they probably think I don’t understand.” It makes her feel guilty. She’s got a lot of what she wanted, but because of all this, she can’t always enjoy it. And every time someone singles her out or snubs them, or wants to put her and only her on a magazine cover, it causes a little more damage.

Faced with this, No Doubt did something rather interesting and brave. They made a video about it. It was Tom’s suggestion. He said to the video’s director, Sophie Muller, that although he knew “Don’t Speak” was about Gwen and Tony’s split, he’d always felt it could also be about the band’s breakup. Maybe that should be the video. “I said ‘Are you sure?’ ” says Muller, who loved the idea. “They were, ‘We need a bit of therapy at the moment – let’s do it.’ ” The result highlights situations in which Gwen gets all the attention and the others get increasingly pissed. “We weren’t in a situation where we really had to act,” says Tony. Acting out the problem didn’t solve it, of course, but maybe it united them and made them laugh. No Doubt’s personal tour-pass laminates in Israel are moody photos of each band member from the “Don’t Speak” video. “I tried to get the ones,” says Gwen smiling, “where we hate each other.”

Ironically, the night before the video shoot, two members – Tom and Gwen – came close to walking out of the group. They had a late-night band meeting by the pool at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel.

This is Tom’s version: They had just canceled shows because Gwen’s voice had given out. “I said, ‘I think we should cancel everything; you should stay home, you should heal and get better.’ It ticked her off, and finally she said, ‘Well, I’m gonna do whatever I want, and if you don’t like it, you can just quit the band.’ ” It hurt him a lot. He nearly said “Yeah, and I do quit.” So nearly. But then he thought, “I’m never gonna quit. Especially if someone tells me to.” He remembers it well.

This is Gwen’s version: She had been in Los Angeles all day, preparing for the video. She’d driven back to Orange County and then – much too tired – had driven back to Los Angeles for the band meeting. She had nearly fallen asleep time and time again on the freeway. And all they wanted to talk about was whether it was her face or the band’s on the cover of a magazine. Didn’t they get it? She’d nearly died on that freeway. She was so angry. She remembers it well.

A little history: secret kisses, suicide, baby seals

Stefani is an Italian name, though the most Italian thing they ever did was make gnocchi. Eric, Gwen’s older brother, was the musician. Even then, Gwen was obsessed with getting married and having children. Eric would get her to sing along while he played the piano. Their first original song was called “Stick It In The Hole.” (They were young. It was about a pencil sharpener, she says. And it sort of was, but Eric knew it was naughty, too.) “My brother made me do it,” she says, and that was how it was to be for many years to come. “Growing up, my brother was the one with all the talent and all the focus. I had him, so I didn’t have to do anything, you know?”

After they both got into the British ska explosion (Madness, the Specials, the English Beat, the Selecter), he persuaded her to take the stage for the school talent show and sing the Selecter’s “On My Radio”. She wore the tweed dress her mother had made her, copied from the dress Maria wears in “The Sound of Music” when she leaves the abbey and sings “I Have Confidence in Me.” (“The Sound of Music” was, and is, Gwen’s[ greatest obsession.) Eric roped her in again when they formed a real band, at the end of 1986. She sang alongside a black punk called John Spence, who could do these amazing backflips and who modeled himself on Bad Brains’ H.R. “No doubt” was something he often said, and that became their name.

Tony joined that spring. The first time she saw him, stepping out of his silver car, carrying his bass, wearing Mexican sandals and baggy pants, his hair sticking out over his forehead, she immediately knew. Still, it took a few months. One night that summer, No Doubt played at a party. There was a keg, and everyone got drunk. She took Tony for a walk and tried to kiss him. “he was,” she recalls, ” ‘No! The band! The band!’ ” Eventually he acquiesced. “He thought it was a one-night kiss,” she says, “but I was, like, in love” It was after that when she realized she didn’t even know what nationality her new boyfriend was. “What are you?” she asked. “Chinese,” he told her.

They couldn’t share their joy with anyone. “Oh, boy,” says Tony. “It was a secret of immense proportions.” But, naturally, there were suspicions. That Halloween, Tony dressed as a girl – dress, makeup, the whole caboodle – and arrived at the party before Gwen. Some of the band took an opportunity to deliver a warning: “if we find out you’re going out with Gwen, you’re dead.” He denied it, of course, but minutes later, Tony could be sitting on the curb in front of the house, crying, his makeup running down his face.

That December, four days before Christmas, something so terrible happened that adolescent secrets about who was kissing whom no longer seemed to matter. John Spence went to an Anaheim, Calif., park and shot himself. A few days later, No Doubt played at the Roxy in Los Angeles. It was meant to be their big break. Instead a friend went onstage and announced it was to be their final show. Nonetheless, the next months, they decided to continue. They convinced themselves it was what Spence would have wanted.

The current No Doubt cast assembled gradually. Tom Dumont was an adopted middle child whose life was changed when a relative gave him Kiss’ “Destroyer” for Christmas and his Aunt Ruth, an ex-nun, gave him her old 12-string. He ended up playing Rush instrumentals at school and heavy metal in his older sister’s group, Rising. (He wore spandex only once, and his hair was more moussed than teased.) When he went to meet No Doubt, he put his long hair into a ponytail “to try and hide my metal thing.”

Adrian Young had been a No Doubt fan. Way before he joined in 1989 (he told them he’d been drumming for years, but it was a lie), he had phoned the number on the back of the number on the back of the cassette they sold at concerts and had spoken to Gwen. he even went by her workplace – he’d heard that she and Tony had broken up, and he was wondering – but he never got to the point, and soon she and Tony were back together again.

In 1991 the band finally signed a record deal with Interscope. Its first album, “No Doubt,” was not what the world has been waiting for. No Doubt hoped that at the very least, they would get played on the radio station of their youth, Los Angeles’ KROQ. They hoped in vain. “The program director,” says Adrian, “said it would take an act of God for this band to get this band to get on the radio.” And God was otherwise occupied. No Doubt were trying to launch an album of quirky, bouncy girl-sing pop as Nirvana and their compadres were exploding. At No Doubt’s album-release party, during the height of grunge, they gave away No Doubt kazoos. The album sold about 30,000 copies.

In those days, Eric was the band’s creative center. Their 1992 tour was not a success, but the others had fun. Eric would stay in the back of the van or just disappear. “You could tell he didn’t like hanging out with us,” says Tom. Things got worse when Interscope encouraged them to work with producers on their new songs. Eric didn’t want people telling him how his songs should be, i.e., simpler, less quirky and with more structure. When the band met with Matthew Wilder, best known for his breezy, rinky-dink early ’80s hit, “Break My Stride,” their first impressions were not favorable. “His hair is almost like Sammy Hagar,” says Tom, still vaguely incredulous to the day. “Really tight curled locks. Tight pants.” Wilder wanted them to work on a song of his, eventually called “Walking on a Fine Line,” which they hated (and which would quitely be dumped). “It was such an invasion, at first,” says Gwen.

An invasion, but a successful one. It hurt, but it worked. “This is a very weird thing to talk about,” says Tony, “because I don’t want it to come across that we changed our songs and we were just beat down like baby seals. One of the reasons this record took so long to come out is that we withstood a lot of pressures and we were unwilling to compromise on a lot of things. ‘Tragic Kingdom’ is a battleground. It was the outcome of three years of struggle.” And there were casualties.

There had always been conflict between Eric and Tony. The carefree artist and the careful businessman. The singer’s brother and the singer’s lover. And though Eric encouraged the other band members to write more songs, he sometimes felt threatened when they did. In 1994, Tom and Gwen came up with “Just A Girl”, and Eric, always a talented cartoonist, invented her – Gwen Stefani, pop star – as a cartoon. Now she was taking control of his creation and becoming something much more aggressive and forthright than he’d imagined. And people seemed to like this new Gwen. Part of him was happy for her, but part of him was jealous.

He got more and more depressed. In September 1994, he stopped turning up at rehearsals, even though they were held in the house where he lived, and then he quit. He’d previously done animation on the first two seasons of “The Simpsons,” and he eventually took a job there. Afterward, Gwen and Eric went through therapy together, at their parents’ suggestion, to patch up their relationship. “I didn’t want to lose my brother, you know,” she says, “because everything that I am is because of him.” When “Tragic Kingdom” was finally ready for release, there was a school of thought, principally pressed by Gwen, that although Eric had not been around for months, the album was as much his as anybody else’s and that he should appear with them on the sleeve. So the five of them spent an uncomfortable day being photographed on streets and in orange groves. If you look at the sleeve booklet, Eric is always standing at the back or the side, and usually he is looking away. “It was very weird,” Gwen remembers. “It was horrible.”

One of the last songs Eric wrote for the band was called “Bye Bye Birdie.” A sad farewell song about a newborn bird who needed to fly off into the sky. It worked either way: the band away from Eric, Eric away from the band. It was never recorded.

The man who left

Eric Stefani calls me on a mobile phone from Central Park, in New York. He’s standing by the Alice In Wonderland mushroom statue. “I hear you’ve gotten everybody except me,” he says. He talks about the older days sweetly but a little forlornly. He suggests that he went off track for a while. “I was trying too hard to put my personality, or my being, on this planet through the music,” he says. “And I didn’t know how to express myself any other way. So when that was compromised, I was lost. But I think I found myself more by losing that and having to act as a human.” He tells me, “Art should imitate life, not the other way ’round,” as though this is a relatively recent, and rather surprising, discovery.

Until recently he had been working on his own cartoons on the side and doing The Simpsons as a day job. His favorite Simpson to draw: “Bart. Bart was the whole reason I got involved. I relate to him.” But now he has quit again, because all these music-publishing companies are offering him songwriting deals, particularly since the success of “Don’t Speak,” whose music and melody he wrote. He explains that he’ll try to write some of those kind of pop songs, but his true passion is elsewhere. He’s formed a ragtime band. They do the Little Rascals theme, Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag” and some new songs of his own. “The humorous side of me, I think, that’s where I’d like to see myself,” he says earnestly. “I should be seen as more of a ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic.” He tells me about a song called “Kangaroo”: “It’s like something on the Muppets. If I could be doing songs for The Muppet Show, that would be the ultimate gig.”

Yesterday, in fact, he bought himself a Kermit puppet. Today he’s off to see the Statue of Liberty for the first time. And a David Lynch retrospective in Queens.

More history: heartbreak, parasites, publicity stunts

In the “Tragic Kingdom” years, there was another force tearing the group apart: Gwen and Tony. “I think he started feeling really claustrophobic,” she says. “And he’d never had any kind of experience, as far as seeing other girls, since he was 16 years old. Of course” – she adds with a half-laughing, feigned chutzpah – “he was going out with the raddest girl in the world.” It took ages to break up. Those were the days when Gwen used to listen, over and over, to Elvis Costello’s “Almost Blue.” That was them. Almost everything. For a long time, even after it was supposed to be over, she would make him kiss her. Or he would just do it, anyway.

“I don’t expect anyone to understand exactly what happened,” Tony says gently, “and I really have no desire to justify and clarify. It’s in the past, and that’s it.”

Their biggest worry was how to fall apart but still keep the band together. ” ‘If we break up,’ ” Gwen remembers, ” ‘how can we be in a band together?’ I was, ‘If you even see a girl in front of me, I will kill myself. How can we hang out each day, and I can’t touch you??’ And that’s why we stayed together for such a long time: because he was such a good friend to me that he could never hurt me. Even though he was already killing me, just by me knowing he didn’t want to be with me.”

If Gwen Stefani lost the love of his life, she also gained her subject matter. One of the many ironies surrounding No Doubt is that this music, which is frequently dismissed as meaningless, superficial pop, is fully in the tradition of the heartfelt, intimate, pop-poetic confessional. If you want to know what happened between Gwen and Tony, read the lyric sheet. “I was, ‘Fuck, I can’t keep writing about the same thing,’ ” she remembers. ” ‘But I gotta write about what’s in my head, and that’s the only thing on my mind.’ ” The day she wrote the lyrics to one of the most direct and pointed songs, “Happy Now?” (its real-life Gwen ‘n’ Tony story line: Bot dumps girl, girl announces that she likes her newfound liberation and taunts him, “are you happy now?”), she was really proud. So she phoned up the person with whom she usually shared both her triumphs and disasters. Tony. “I was ‘Dude, I totally wrote the raddest song – I have to read it to you. Promise you won’t get mad at me.’ ”

Tony says he accepted it. It wasn’t easy, but he wasn’t about to stop her from doing something that she wanted to do. Tony’s favorite No Doubt song, ironically, is one of the meanest, “Sunday Morning.” (Its real-life Gwen ‘n’ Tony story line: Girl used to go out with boy and act pathetic and overdependant, but now the tables are turned – “Now you’re the parasite.”)

“It’s not mean towards him, really,” says Gwen, when I mention how strange this is.

Well, I point out, it does call him a parasite.

“Oh, yeah,” she says giggling. “I forgot about the bridge.”

Of course, everyone expects Tony to be mortified now that the barbed hymns of their relationship are sung by millions. But at worst he is bemused, and at best, amused. One night he jumps offstage and tells the band that a boy in the audience asked him, “Are you still jealous?” Sometimes it feels like everyone’s looking at him during “Don’t Speak.” ” ‘Will he break down this time?, ” Tony says, laughing. “Am I going to storm off the stage?”

“That would be so rad!” hoots Gwen. “You should shake me and then walk off. We should do that as a publicity stunt.

More gushy stuff about the singer

Around her neck, Gwen wears two chains. One carries a silver-colored, ornate GWEN in what is apparently the lettering style favored by Orange County gangs. The other carries a cube that simply says G. She was given the W, E and N, but she removed them so that the G could stand for something else. It’s easier when you share an initial with your boyfriend.

Gavin. Like being the star in the spotlight, her boyfriend is another issue that tears Gwen in two directions: her obvious joy on one hand, her awareness of how little the band likes the attention her relationship draws on the other. (No Doubt opened for Bush last year. When, at random, I ask Tom if he likes them, he says, “No. They have some catchy songs, but to me, it’s just milking what somebody else created. I don’t know. Maybe Bush was doing that shit before Nirvana came out.”)

One night in the dressing room, the band finds a magazine in which Gwen is supposed to have made kissy-kissy comments about her boyfriend – horrible, heinous misquotes, she says. “Fuck them dude,” she explodes, meaning the magazine. She points out that some of the phrases she is supposed to have said are Anglicisms that she barely even understands. “They’re fucking assholes. I hate everybody right now. They put words in my mouth. Liar. Fucks.”

“Stop trying to deny it in front of Chris,” teases Tony.

“I’m embarrassed in front of you guys. I would fire me if I was you.”

That night, before the encores, the band waits in the venue bar. Tony nudges me and points above Gwen’s head. A poster for Bush’s Razorblade Suitcase. “How appropriate,” he says.

One night in London, Gwen and I talk. I sit on her bed; she lies down. She is surrounded by pre-Valentine’s Day debris: tape, wrapping paper covered in hearts, a chocolate heart-shaped cake, chocolate bars, a small teddy bear, an I LOVE YOU heart-shaped balloon. On the inside of her makeup case are Polaroids of Gavin and her. Earlier she has shown me her main gift: a silver fountain pen engraved G loves G. She’s annoyed that she made a mess of the card. “I made the ugliest Valentine,” she says. “I got too excited. Too many hearts. Like I just had so much love that I wanted to send that it got out of control.” (Tomorrow Gavin will send her a Prada dress and gray mittens: “He has good taste, that boy.”)

She sighs. “It’s really hard for me now. My best friend for eight years was my boyfriend and was in the band that was my life. And now I have this band, which is my life, with my friends, and I have this fantasy boy that’s away that I dream about.” She smiles. “I like him a lot, you know?” she says. “So why should I hide it? And I hope it works out. But I’m a hopeful girl. How do you think I stayed in the band for 10 years?”

We talk about those 10 years. “Normally you don’t have these conversations unless you’re having therapy, right?” she says. She begins to get sad when John Spence is mentioned, and when we reach the breakup with Tony, the floodgates open. “I’ll just start crying, and I can’t stop,” she sobs. “I’m a baby. Sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I’m going to cry forever now. I’m totally a baby.”

I change the subject and ask some dumb things to cheer her up, which at least stems the flow. Then the phone rings. It’s Gavin. I ask if I should leave, but she doesn’t answer. She tells him that I made her cry. “You are so fucking cute,” she tells him. She’s so sweet on the phone to him – so sweet and so sad.

Some investigative journalism

Onstage, Gwen Stefani sweats, and she sweats until she is drenched, but it is a clean, odorless wash of perspiration. I learn this in the back of a Glasgow, Scotland, taxicab. The recently encored Gwen is carrying her stage clothes. “Smell my top,” she instructs, holding forward the wet, flimsy white top she was wearing minutes ago. “It doesn’t smell,” she says. Out of obedience and a keen desire for the truth, I lean forward and sniff. No smell.

But she is not satisfied. There are harsher tests. She holds up a black undergarment that has been subjected to an even more stringent dousing in Eau de Stefani. “The bus probably doesn’t smell, either,” she announces, and checks it herself. “It doesn’t!” she exclaims with pride. “Smell it!”

That is why, driving along through Scottish suburbia, Gwen Stefani pushes her self-soaked bra toward my nostrils, and I inhale as I must.

And everything she says is true.

A longer trip around Britain

As they travel the country, these are some of the things I see and hear No Doubt do. They worry about their laundry, Gwen’s voice, my article. They reminisce about the concert in Japan where a man screamed – Adrian does a fine Japanese man hollering in English – “I want to fuck you, Gwen!” They meet Kato Kaelin in a London hotel. (Kato tells me about his 12-year-old daughter, Tiffany, and her favorite pop group. Sometimes Tiffany phones Kato up and plays pretend. “Hello,” she says. “I’m Gwen Stefani.”)

They read out loud a review of “Don’t Speak” (which will enter the British charts at No. 1 the following week) from Kerrang!, a British rock magazine: “Mere words cannot describe how abysmally gutless and sugar smothered it is… Much like an anteater with a punctured snout, No Doubt suck badly.” (Tony wants to make it into a T-shirt.)

Slowly, they must think about the future. There is an American tour to plan, and I sit in on production meetings where they try to realize their moody, lavish, theatrical vision, earnestly debating whether to go with the $9,000 fly or the $6,000 rain, and the exact nature of the onscreen trees. (“If we go to wood, I don’t think we’ll be able to achieve the trees that we all want,” the production designers advise. There is something enjoyably surreal in hearing people discuss making trees out of wood and then deciding against it.)

They have a few new songs, but one issue remains undecided. Eric. Gwen is particularly adamant that he should be involved in the next record. “Because Eric is No Doubt,” she says. “I think that what we are is that” – she points to some steamed vegetables on a dinner tray in front of her. “And they’re really good, but if I can put a little butter and salt and pepper on that, it would be fucking great. And that’s what Eric is.”

So you become famous, and some of you get too much attention, and some of you are too ignored, and it feels marvelous, and sometimes it doesn’t, and sometimes people make you cry, and sometimes you forget why you do all this, and sometimes you think you never really knew. And sometimes you realize that you don’t really need a reason.

When Gwen and Tony were splitting up, Tony offered to leave the band. “Because he loved me so much,” she explains. “I would never let him.”

Did you offer to leave, too?

She laughs. “Fuck, no.”

Gwen Stefani’s survived a friend’s suicide, a flop record, and a band that was set on self-destruct. Now she’s a international sex symbol with a hit record, a hip boyfriend, and a whole new set of troubles. By David A. Keeps

Imagine being in high school back in the mid-80s. You play piccolo in the marching band. You hate math. You’re a little shy of confidence and creativity. And a little chubby. One day your older brother brings home a record by a nutty English group called Madness. It’s rad and it totally changes your life. You hang out with the punkers and the mods and start making your own clothes. Then your brother decides to form a band and makes you the lead singer. You are Gwen Stefani, sixteen going on seventeen.

Weeks, months, years fly by. It is 1992. A lot of crazy shit has gone down. You lost your other singer to suicide. Your trumpet player gets his girlfriend pregnant and quits. You have a new guitarist, drummer and bassist. Your band, No Doubt, releases a debut that tanks, so your record company blows you off. By 1995, you’ve been dumped by your boyfriend, the bass player. So you sing a song about it, “Don’t Speak,” written by you and your brother, who’s just quit the group, and it sends your second album, Tragic Kingdom, to the top of the charts. It is 1997 and you are Gwen Stefani, twenty-seven, multi-platinum queen of pop.

This is a really exciting time to be Gwen Stefani. And a confusing one. Her fashion aesthetic has been celebrated in Women’s Wear Daily, but Newsweek called her a “skank”. Critics question her credibility because she is from unhip Anaheim in Orange County and plays hugely successful, hugely catchy music. Her first hit, the feminist-lit “Just a Girl,” has become an anthem of empowerment for her massive teenage female following, but she has always dreamed of being married and having kids. She is Doris Day in a tank top and bondage pants. It is unlikely that she will ever be the subject of a Camille Paglia essay.

There’s more. Her low-profile relationship with Bush’s lead singer, Gavin Rossdale, has given birth to high-octane rumours that they are (a) engaged, (b) married, (c) having a love child, (d) none of the above. (The correct answer is d.) She is suspected of being both a music industry marionette and a martinet, the de facto leader of the band, a future solo artist and movie star. (She has already met with three top Hollywood agents.) Not suprisingly, Gwen has her reservations about this story focusing on her, and the band waged a small, uncivil war over it.

I ask bassist Tony Kanal about all of this. None of the band want to contribute to a story just about Gwen, but he responds diplomatically: “Before this record came out, we were always a band, a democracy – this was never an issue. There’s a natural tendency for the media to gravitate towards lead singers – particuarly females – and if you’ve seen Gwen perform, you can see that she deserves it. It’s not something we’ve been dealing with for a long time, but I think we’ve gotten used to it.” Gwen acknowledges that it’s a problem they may never fully resolve. It’s no coincidence that the video for “Don’t Speak” was a narrative in which the band watch Gwen be singled out for the cover of a magazine.

“We were on tour for too long, and we weren’t getting along,” says Gwen. “We thought the saddest thing we could do was a video about the band breaking up, ’cause we really thought we might.” She is insistent about one thing: “It’s not like Gwen Stefani and the No Doubt background loser boys,” she declares. “I would feel naked without them.”

Oh. And all this sex symbol stuff. Don’t even go there. “I think earlier on there were ideas that since I’m a rock chick that I would be some slutty woman, and I’m totally the opposite. People are suddenly starting to accuse me of selling myself, like obviously I knew that ten years down the line if I kept it up, I would make some money off this belly button”

Scenes from an awards show

The camera crews recording the celebrity arrivals at the American Music Awards never even see Gwen Stefani. No Doubt are late, and a snominees for Best New Pop/Rock Artist, they have to be seated. Pronto. No time for photographs. Gwen, very ’40s-cover-girl gorgeous, swoops in, confiding to a friend, “What about my nails not being done?”

After No Doubt lose the Best New Artist award to Jewel, Gavin Rossdale sends an emissary to bring Gwen backstage. Sitting on his lap, she is anything but inconsolable. Soon, however, she looks the slightest bit worried. “My band is probably wondering where I am.”

Gavin and his band, who are nominated for Best Alternative Music Artist, head down to the auditorium with Gwen in tow. “Let’s go and watch the other cunts win,” Gavin says, looking straight at me. “And you can quote me on that.” Smashing Pumpkins take home the trophy. Typical.

It is no small irony that Bush and No Doubt are on Trauma Records. Each band suffers an identity crisis. Bush, who are English, have outlasted their American grunge counterparts; Americans No Doubt are toffee-flavored new-wave ska. In a sluggish musical economy, these bands are a genuine organic phenomenon. Unfashionably pop, they have shifted some ten million units for their label, yet they command nothing but abuse from music critics. Their lead singer are held up to a strange double standard: Too Pretty To Mean It. If misery loves company, Gwen Stefanni and Gavin Rossdale are made for each other.

After the show, they slip off to Beverley Hills for a private party for Bush. When she’s in town, Gwen still lives at home, so her whole family is here, too. Gwen cuddles her baby sister Jill’s brand-new daughter Madeline. Later on, she returns to Gavin’s lap. He holds her gently, one hand just underneath the back strap of the dress he bought her especially for tonight.

I next meet Gwen Stefani for dinner at the swank May Fair hotel in London. No Doubt are here to promote their European tour. She has a Bloddy Mary. (She’s not much of a boozer. The last time was when No Doubt celebrated hitting number one. Tequila shots. “Self-torture,” Gwen deadpans.) She orders pasta and a salad. Healthy. I want something meaty. So I ask her about the men in her life. There are two things Gwen cares deeply about. What her parents think and what her fans think. “I believe that sex is a sacred, private thing,” she declares.

When it comes to the men in her life, there haven’t been many. In the summer between eighth and ninth grade, there was Brad, her first French kiss. He had braces. In band class, she met a bad boy who had hair like Robert Smith and an uncontrollable urge. “Everyday, I would just be fighting him off,” she recalls. Once, she had a mild case of groupie-itis: “I made out with the keyboard player from Fishbone, and he tried to take advantage of the situation and I was not about to, and he got really mad.”

She remembers the day she met Tony Kanal when he came for to audition for the band. “He had on white huarache sandals and white baggy pants, and his hair was out like full funk, like really into Prince. I was really into dark guys then, and he has such a dark sense of humour, I couldn’t help liking him.” For nearly eight years they were joined at the hip. The relationship grew lopsided: She heard wedding bells, he sought space. He was a gentleman, Gwen says. “He did stay with me way longer than he wanted to.” On Tragic Kingdom, they sugar coated the bitter pill of their relationship and created modern bubblegum pop. They still had their friendship, and now they had success. “It’s scary to think I could love Tony so, so much, and that now I can have a life without him. It’s so scary that there’s nothing you can do to guarantee anything is gonna be permanent.”

In February of ‘96, she found herself on the road with Bush. No Doubt’s leg on the tour was supposed to last three weeks. It stretched on for three months. On the third day she knew. “I was worried I was going to have to hide in my bunk,’cause there is no way I was gonna start hanging out with some dude who’s in a band that every girl wants to fuck.” She winces. “Sorry, Mom,” she says into my tape recorder.

The last thing she wanted was another musician. “But who am I ever going to meet who is honestly gonna love me for who I am and not want my money? That’s why I think me and Gavin have hooked up. When we get together, it’s not like we talk about how much money we make and how many hit singles we have. We talk about, ‘Dude, you’re a fox! Quick, give me a kiss’ – like two normal people that just wanna take a break from their work lives and hang out with each other.”

Gavin Rossdale has it all. “He’s the most sickeningly romantic guy I’ve ever met. And on top of it he’s physically perfect – and I’m not even into that.”

Still, he’s a London guy, she’s a California girl. They’re both always on tour. They haven’t talked about their relationship in the press before “because we really haven’t known where we stood. Why should we tell everyone else what’s happening when we don’t even know?” Gwen is certain of one thing: “If I get a crush on someone, that’s that. My whole lofe is directed around that. I can’t help it. I love love.”

Scenes from a childhood

Gwen Renee Stefani was born October 3, 1969. Her first memory is of her older brother Eric stealing Oreos from the kitchen, scraping out all the white stuff and making a ball out of it. She was a girlie girl, playing baby dolls, house and dress-up. Her big brother was “a nutcase,” always drawing cartoons of her and pounding on the piano every morning. “He was the one with all the talent; I was like Eric’s little toy. He forced me to sing.” (I tell Eric this and he laughs: “I’d use the word ‘begged.’ I didn’t take a whip to her. She had a great voice and she was really cute and had her own thing going.”)

Her fifty-something parents, Dennis and Patti, were once in a folk band called the Innertubes. Mom played the autoharp; Dad played guitar. There was a lot of Dylan on the family turntable. “Gnarly,” Gwen recalls. She preferred show tunes: The Sound of Music, Annie, Evita, Kermit the Frog’s “Rainbow Connection.”

She did sports. Water ballet. Soccor. “Mostly for fitness reasons,” she says. “My grandma was one of thos really obese women – I think that really frightened my mom, ya know?” At twelve, Gwen was put on a strict diet. “It was out of my mother’s love for me. I don’t know if that’s so good for a kid to be concerned over that so early. I think it’s haunted me in a way.”

Her Catholic parents were very protective. Before she saw Flashdance, her parents lectured the whole family about the heroine’s sexual mores. For her graduation Gwen had to go to Disneyland instead of the usual hotel parties and had to be home by midnight. Six years ago, her dad took the family on a Roots-like trip to Italy. “It was like strict rules,” Gwen remembers.” ‘ We’re going there to see the churches and the art, and you can’t talk to boys, and you have to wear long dresses with your shoulders covered.’ ” She was twenty-one.

Gwen couldn’t believe some of her school friends hated their parents. Hers did nothing so stern that she had to hurl the F-word at them like some other girls. She did use the word on stage, against her mother’s wishes, at a show that Mom had invited relatives to, and for a week mother gave daughter the silent treatment. I call her mother. “That word?” she asks. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about? I was quite shocked that she put that in her act. I know it’s really common for young people, but I hated to see her accept it.” At least she isn’t pierced or tattooed, her mother says. “Her fans can go and bleach their hair and that’ll be enough.”

Gwen was daddy’s girl, her mother tells me. So I speak with him, too. Having been a marketing executive for Yamaha, he’d worked with bands, allowing Gwen to meet Sting and A Flock of Seagulls. He was supportive of his son and daughter’s ambitions, but concerned. “Luckily we never had any troubles with her drinking or taking drugs,” he says. “She’s serious about doing the rock-star thing as a profession, as opposed to ‘Let’s go party.’ ”

And what does he think of his little girl becoming a sex symbol? “That’s very troublesome. She’s very self-conscious about the whole thing. I think she’s hit on a trend in society where blatant sexuality is really not what’s happening; the healthy, athletic, happy honest approach is where she’s at, and that’s why people find her attractive.” And her boyfriend? “Gwen’s certainly very emotional, but I have 100 percent confidence in her judgment.”

Scenes from a photo session

In a London photo studio, wearing hot rollers, a sweatshirt that says DON’T TOUCH ME, and with a slight case of “pillow face,” Gwen still looks fresh as a breeze on Sunday morning. I offer her a chocolate biscuit. No thanks. “I’ve started my diet today.” She thinks it’s ridiculous that a few good photos have made people think she has abs of steel. “More like abs of Jell-O,” she says frowning comically.

There are two band photo shoots scheduled, Gwen would like a close-up of the four of them sitting in chairs; the man from New Musical Express sets up a full-length shot. They go through their Madness poses. Gwen focuses carefully on each shot, chin down, eyes wide. Tony jet-lagged, tries to keep his open. Guitarist Tom Dumont lifts his shirt and shows off his belly. “It’s important to be comfortable with your body,” he explains. Drummer Adrian Young agrees. “Let’s all drop our trousers and stand in our boxers,” he suggests. So they do. “You guys are nasty,” Gwen squeals, all boop-boop-de-boop.

Next setup, “What kind of expression does the Melody Maker like?” Gwen asks the the photographer. She gives them plenty, directing the band to follow her lead: “Look dreamy. Cock your heads this way, I’ll cock mine the other way. Now smile. Give him serious pissed-off English faces. Attitude. Oasis.”

It’s almost over. “I have this really good idea that the New Musical Express wouldn’t do,” she purrs as the band sit down side by side in the chairs. “Believe me, you’ll love it.”

Believe me, he does.

In a car, driving from Newcastle to Manchester, I ply Gwen with fresh fruit. She takes out a videocam and films us, introducing me to her parents. “It’s going to be a proper, very educational story. And very ladylike,” she promises. Her voice is tired – she had a problem with nodes last year – so for a while she quietly does vocal exercises that sound like gargling and bees buzzing. She’s a bit embarrassed; I try hard not to laugh.

She’s a delight, sweet and sincere, totally enjoying the success she feared might never happen. “I get my jollies singing on stage. Sometimes I feel guilty, like maybe something’s wrong with me that I need that attention.” Autograph hounds? “No big deal. Unless you’re really busy and trying to buy tampons and it takes forty-five minutes because you’re signing stuff.” That’s Gwen, always trying to please everyone: Her mom. Her fans. Her band. Herself. Sometimes she must feel like Gwenderella at a quarter to midnight.

Later we talk about her place in rock history. In the late ’80s, all the Orange County were punk-rock boys. No Doubt were different: Their herky-jerky ska was fun, their lineup was interracial, and there was Gwen. “At first, other girls would snarl and be jealous, like, Why does she have the right to even be up there?” Now, Gwen notes, “there’s this real bond that happens and it’s kinda like girl power. They can come to our shows and get in the pit and feel aggressive.”

It isn’t always empowering. When No Doubt played a pro-choice benefit, the not-very-political Gwen told the audience, “If I got pregnant right now, I wouldn’t get an abortion. But isn’t it cool that nobody can tell me what I can and can’t do?” Afterward, she says, “the organization was like, ‘We would’ve never asked Gwen Stefani to be involved if we knew she was going to say that.’ ” That’s hypocritical, says Gwen. “They were pro-abortion, not pro-choice.”

She also has discovered that even in the late ’90s, boys will be pigs. At one concert, she was singing “Just a Girl” and heard the audience chanting. “I’m like ‘Cool, they’re really getting into it.’ And then all of a sudden it’s ‘Show me your tits!’ I’m up there making a point about how I fell being a chick. Even though maybe the song is not as cool as a Courtney Love song, it is my life and how I’ve been meant to feel throughout ten years of being in a man’s business, and suddenly they just totally miss the whole point and I just feel like a whore. Like, what am I doing up there in front of all these boys with a little top on? Maybe I’m asking for it, you know?”

She’s been through worse in the ongoing soap opera of No Doubt. There was John Spence’s suicide nine years ago. “When you’re that age and you don’t even know the person is having problems, it comes as a complete shock.” The band was constantly on the verge of breaking up. After their quirky, not very listenable debut flopped, they persevered. They had a loyal local following (Gwen’s red vinyl Contempo Casuals dress from the cover of Tragic Kingdom is enshrined in the Newport Beach Hard Rock Cafe), so they released their own CD, The Beacon Street Collection. “Interscope never knew what to do with us. They were telling us to turn the guitars up and try to be grunge.” Eventually the music business wore Eric down, and he left to pursue a career in animation. (He has no regrets. He’s working in a short film, has a new band, and may write with No Doubt in the future, he tells me.) Then Tony split up with Gwen. “I just had to grow up,” she says. “I had to go whoosh and become my own person in the last two years.”

Scenes from a promotional tour

No Doubt are just getting started in Britain, so Tom and Gwen spent four days visiting radio stations, playing unplugged versions of “Don’t Speak” and “Just a Girl.” (It pays off brilliantly; two weeks later, “Don’t Speak” will enter the UK singles chart at number one.) At Viking FM in Hull, put to him by soloing on his guitar. On their way out, off the air, Gwen says goodbye to Cameron, the wacky DJ, in her best rock-chick manner: “Thanks for playing our fucking record!”

At Hallam FM in Sheffield, she does a spirited, sarcastic version of “Just a Girl” and a hushed, poignant rendering of “Don’t Speak.” Eyes closed, utterly confident, she warbles, scats and sing-sobs her way through the song.

Afterward in the lobby, she stands in her full-length leopard coat, looking like Bonnie without her Clyde. (Gavin picked it out. “I said, ‘What am I going to do with a pimp coat like that?’ And now I wear it all the time.”) She’s starved. “Dude,” she tells Jasper, the jolly promo guy from the record company, “my stomach lining is digesting itself.”

We buy sandwiches at a gas station minimart. Tom and I spot a headline on a men’s magazine: BRIDGET FONDA PUTS THE ASS IN ASSASSIN. We open it and look; Gwen doesn’t. Later she tells me that she doesn’t think pornography should be banned, it just makes her feel sorry for everyone involved.

In the car, she says, rather tongue in cheek, “There’s a new controversy.” Tom and Tony were offered the cover of Guitar magazine without her and Adrian. “Of course they’ll do it,” Gwen says. We talk about how No Doubt was offered the cover of Rolling Stone, and how the magazine’s readers’ poll ranked the group as the second-best new band while its critics named them the third-worst. “That’s stupid. Don’t put both in then,” she says. “It just makes the magazine look dumb.”

We arrive in Manchester to discover that Bush are playing two hours away. Despite her gruelling schedule, Gwen wants to go. Her logic is compelling – “Dude, I do this all the time. I’m a rock chick” – but in the end she’s too exhausted. At dinner, Gwen consoles herself with a sip of red wine and some passion-fruit sorbet. “Whatever you order for dessert,” she warns me, “you’d better be prepared to give up a forkful.”

Maybe it’s the diet she’s on, maybe it’s just the way she talks, but it strikes me that every time Gwen tries to explain No Doubt, she uses unappetizing food metaphors. The group is a “watered-down version of Two-Tone.” The record, a “salad of stolen devices.” No Doubt is “dessert: We don’t claim to be a main meal.” It’s as if she is apologizing for making music that’s so delicious. I chide her for it. She takes the bait. “We never claimed to be saving the world with this – these are pop songs. But they also are songs from my life. So if you say they have no depth or meaning, it’s like, well neither does my life, and neither does that whole horrible time period of breaking up with the boy of my dreams. It’s like, Fuck you.” Which, in its way, is like punk rock. And her mom may not like it, but it’s also very, like, Gwen Stefani.

Anaheim’s No Doubt sets the “Rock Feminist” label on its head

Being a woman in today’s pop music arena seems to immediately slap that feminist scarlet letter on the artist’s chest – a tag that most of the prominent females in modern rock heartily endorse with their attitudes. A gauge of this? What would be the assumptive grrrl reaction to being called “cute”? Madonna or Courtney Love would probably have some smartass retort. Chrissie Hynde would just smirk or totally ignore the comment. L7 would laugh. TLC or Salt-N-Pepa would give it right back, only spicier. And the members of Bikini Kill might hit you over the head with their guitar.

But Gwen Stefani of No Doubt would probably just say… “Thank you.”

Platinum hair and funky wardrobe aside, the one outstanding characteristic of No Doubt’s frontwoman is polite propriety. “I’m old-fashioned”, she admits, with an unapologetic smile. But don’t be fooled. It’s this very sense of quiet-but-firm opinion that gives a twist to Stefani’s particular brand of feminism – that is, one does not necessarily have to choose between cowering in silence or screaming to be heard. One can be humorous and articulate, as well as independent and forthright.

No Doubt’s newest record, Tragic Kingdom – the third release from this Anaheim ska / rock / pop hybrid who’ve been building a local following for eight years – marks the debut of Stefani as a primary lyricist, a role that previously had been, for the most part, shouldered by her brother (and band founder) Eric. Her sibling’s departure from the band prior to the latest release (due to a desire to pursue a career in cartooning and animation) may be accountable for the decidedly feminine lyrical slant on Tragic Kingdom; Stefani’s mix of unabashedly romantic topics, after all, is peppered here and there with uncannily simple-yet-effective sarcasm that could only come from the mind of one who’s been there. Ask anyone without a Y-chromosome: The first single off the record, “Just A Girl”, speaks clearly about the exasperation involved in female stereotypes. “Don’t you think I know / Exactly where I stand? / This world is forcing me / To hold your hand.”

“I wrote that because my dad got mad at me for going to Tony [Kanal, No Doubt bassist]’s house and driving home late at night,” the 26-year old singer explains. “I mean, c’mon, I’m, like, going on 30 here!” she exaggerates, laughing. “I wouldn’t trade [being female], but I really don’t think guys understand what a burden it can be sometimes.”

But regardless of whatever heavy message is ingrained in the lyrical side of things, Stefani’s breathless vocals always manage to soar high and joyful over an upbeat, infectious musical cocktail, drawing diversely in turn from a horn section, steel drums, ‘80s-style keyboards, and a classic rock guitar. This is updated New Wave – and a sound that should be well appreciated by any former preteen who ever worshipped Debbie Harry and the Go-Go’s.

It seems odd to this band, then, that despite their hybrid sound, they seem to consistently carry an indelible label as a “ska band.” “Our roots are definitely in ska,” says Stefani. “When we started in 1987, we were just pretty much trying to imitate what we loved, and I was really into the [British] band Madness. I was the only ska girl at my school – as far as dress went, anyway. I would look at the English Beat girl – you know, the cartoon girl on their album covers – and think, ‘Maybe I’ll get an outfit like that!’ And our first big show was opening for the Untouchables that same year. But then we started finding different [musical] influences from different members.

Not the least diverse of which was the influence of guitarist Tom Dumont, who tells his story with a sense of mild irony. “Before I joined in 1988, I was in a heavy metal band – yes, I can play [Metallica's] ‘One’ on guitar,” he grins. “We all used to rehearse in the same little studio in Anaheim. But I was becoming dissatisfied with my own band and the whole direction of the metal scene in general. I always liked other styles of music, and I would look in sometimes and watch [No Doubt] practice – it was fascinating, because this was different from any kind of music I’d heard before. Ska music… I was pretty unfamiliar with it. Anyway, I quit my band, independently of that, and within a week, I saw a flyer, ‘No Doubt needs a guitar player.’ I was fortunate that they would accept a heavy metal guy with long hair and lack of fashion sense,” quips the mohawked, AirWalk-wearing axe man. “Their scene seemed so much healthier to me. People would come to shows, dance, and just have fun.”

And drummer Adrian Young – although admitting to his own junior high-era ska fever – claims his earliest influences were his “hippie parents’” Hendrix and Janis Joplin records. Tony Kanal, meanwhile, was such a rabid Prince fan that “he wore purple to school,” giggles Stefani. “So, as we began collaborating and getting experienced with songwriting,” she continues, “we got this ambition – to not be a ‘ska’ band. Because it was always this label that was put on us, and it was always our goal to have our own sound.”

Nevertheless, with ska currently segueing head-first into punk as the next “big thing” in popular music, the band have to acknowledge that the slightest reference to the upbeat (or offbeat) is going to throw them into the ska label. And cultivating – instead of fighting – the tag might prove lucrative in short order. Witness Rancid, whose return to skankin’ roots on their latest album has gleaned them both major airplay and popularity with the ska-tinged single “Time Bomb”.

Stefani reflects on this suggestion. “Well, [the members of] Rancid started out in a ska band, Operation Ivy, so it’s really not unusual that they would go back to that. But for me, personally, after being in the scene for eight years, I got burned out on all the up-and-coming ska bands over the years, I just got sick of them trying to repeat the whole 2-Tone movement.”

“The funny thing is that ‘Just A Girl’ is not even close to ska,” interjects Dumont “It’s more of a New Wave thing. I don’t know if people are throwing us in with the Rancids… I mean, there’s nothing wrong with Rancid, but our song is actually more like Weezer.” The rest of the bandmembers nod enthusiastically in assent.

“I look at our band as kinda like the Police,” Stefani muses. “They had the reggae / ska thing happening, but they’re a rock band. Our roots are ska, but ska just bubbles under in our music. We don’t label our sound by that term.”

Whether they’re technically ska or not, No Doubt’s third record is currently the recipient of renewed commercial interest from its original parent label, Interscope (which released the debut No Doubt LP in 1992), even though they’re still on the smaller indie label, Trauma Records. Confused? The story behind the label switch provokes sighs from the entire band. “It’s confusing to everyone, including us,” says Stefani, “but people are gonna want to know why this record took three years to come out.” She cups her chin in her hand resignedly and begins the tale. “When we signed with Interscope in ‘91, they had just formed as a new label.”

“At the time, we were finishing up an indie CD that we were going to put out ourselves,” continues Dumont. “[Interscope] decided they wanted to sign us, and they were going to give us some money. So, we thought, ‘OK, let’s redo the CD in a really good studio.’”

“And we thought we were recording in a really good studio,” Stefani’s tone is flat. “But looking back, we were naive. It was almost like an independent release, anyway – there was no push for the record [by Interscope] and no kind of support at all. Everything we did on that record, we did ourselves. We did get tour support, though, so we toured the U.S. once.”

“Want a list of people who once opened for us?” asks Young, as he begins rattling off a semi- shocking roster: Rage Against The Machine, Ugly Kid Joe, Sublime, Dance Hall Crashers, 311…

“When we got back, though, the problems started.” Stefani has resumed the story. “We were writing and writing, but Interscope was being really wishy-washy about letting us go in the studio. Things just kept getting dragged out… .”

“Months and months and months,” emphasizes Young, shaking his head. “We were going insane.”

“It was a really hard time. We were working, writing, attending school, trying to use up time,” explains Stefani, who majored in art at Cal State Fullerton. “But every day, we were calling up and going, ‘When can we go in? When? When? When?’”

Finally, in complete exasperation, the band built their own studio and self-released two 7-inch singles, while Interscope looked on with an idle eye. The months spent writing had flowered into a catalog of over 60 songs, most of which No Doubt realized would not land on their next Interscope release. So, in a spontaneous burst of energy, the band went into their homemade studio and bashed out a full-length second LP, The Beacon Street Collection, in one long weekend.

“Interscope was surprised,” says Dumont. “They though we were doing another 7-inch. And then we ended up recording Tragic Kingdom in, like 10 different LA studios over the next two years – wherever they could get a deal on a studio!”

It was during one of those sporadic studio session that Interscope introduced the band to a guy who was interested in mixing Tragic Kingdom. “It was this guy, Paul Palmer, who had just mixed this new band called Bush. You know what they sound like, right?” asks Dumont, dead serious. “Paul mixed ‘Just A Girl’ first and then decided to mix the rest of the record a couple of months later. It turns out that he was the owner of Trauma Records, and he wanted to release the record on his own label – which was, conveniently, already tied into Interscope, thanks to Bush. After that, everything just turned around. Trauma got really hot because of Bush. Plus, they’re a small label and totally focused. It was the best thing that could have happened to us!”

“You do have to remember, too,” adds Stefani, determined to be fair, “that after we got on Interscope, the company became so huge. And we were pretty much dealing with just one person at that point. Now that we have to deal with Interscope all over again, we’re remeeting people, and it’s a whole new situation over there. It’s all turned around and much better now.”

It’s not just Interscope that’s improved from the band’s vantage point, either. They’ve also seen a good evolution in the attitude of the audience the band attracts as well. “When I first started singing, there weren’t very many female singers in the scene,” Stefani explains. “Whenever we went to a club, I would always be looked upon as a tagalong girlfriend – ‘Where’s your wristband?!’ But as soon as I finished a show, the same people would be, like, ‘Oooh – I can’t believe you were up there!’ And the attitudes of the girls in the beginning! More like, ‘Bitch! Who does she think she is?!’”

Stefani, who seems unaware that her striking good looks might be considered intimidating, appears genuinely perturbed by this latter aspect. “But now it’s gradually changed into this whole bonding thing between all the girls at the shows. They have their songs – they consider them their songs – that they can [mosh] to. It’s weird being a girl who likes rock, because when you have a band, you’re usually into the person, too. Like, when I liked Madness, I was totally in love with them. But it’s different [for us] now, and it’s great – the girls are into the music.”

“Except,” deadpans Dumont, “when they look at my side of the stage, of course… .”

The latter comment does make you wonder what it must be like for Stefani, one lone girl, touring with a busload of “crude” males. “Oh yeah,” she says, cheerfully. “Burps, farts, everything! But I love touring, so I don’t really pay attention. I’m pretty much used to it, anyway.”

“It’s just not the three guys, either,” adds Young, with a wicked delighted giggle. “There’s our horn section – Steve, Gabe, and Phil. And Donnie the crew guy. Our ‘king of merchandise,’ Merchmaster Matt…” Stefani rolls her eyes and smiles as her bandmates launch into a spirited explanation of bathroom technique and other etiquette while on the road.

Not surprising, then, is the new No Doubt video for “Just A Girl,” which is scheduled to shoot the day following our interview. The plot seems to be a humorous revenge of sorts for Stefani – she is to be shot separately from the others, singing in a plush and pretty ladies’ room, while the boys are forced to perform in a “gross, pee-on-the-floor, club-type bathroom.” It’s a clever yet subtle plot that fits well with the duality of the song. “It’s definitely a very real song, and there’s always two sides to everything,” says Stefani with a smile, admitting that the video story line was her idea.

That naturally brings the subject back to our initial topic: Stefani’s gentle-yet-solid form of feminism. It’s easy to see that she clearly does not consider her role to be any kind of a selling point for specific political issues; thought-provoking lyrical matter is fine, but this band seems more into creating a friendly vibe. That is, dancing feet, not minds.

Stefani puts her chin in her hand and thinks for a moment. “I should tell you this story,” she finally says. “We were playing a Rock for Choice benefit. They were all excited about us and everything, ‘cause I’m a girl. Whatever. Anyway, my own feelings on abortion are pro-choice, but I personally don’t feel right about it. I’m glad that no one can make that choice for me, though. So I said to the audience, ‘You know, if it were me, I would not choose to have an abortion, but I’m glad I have the choice.’ After the show, everyone was so pissed off at me for saying that!” The bandmates shake their heads in chagrin. “Hey, it was a pro-choice benefit… there was nothing wrong with what I said.”

So, a belated welcome to the ‘90s where a musician like Gwen Stefani can define her own style of feminism, expanding and broadening the once-limited label of “Women in Rock.” In other words, a style that is in charge, in effect, and definitely in demand. Will this appeal to male and female music fans beyond the Orange Curtain? The reply is obvious: No doubt about it!

With thanks to Mike McKeaney of ND Universe – transcribed by Craig Smith