The Orange County Register (Dec. 7th 2001)
A Rock Steady Vibe
We're relaxing in the cozy, verdant back yard of Tony Kanal's modest Los Angeles home, huddled at a spider-web-like wrought-iron table just past the tastefully decorated living room that could have been transplanted straight outta Anaheim.
Inside it's understated rock-star chic crossed with warming suburbia, and with as much Beatles memorabilia as No Doubt promo posters adorning the walls. Outside it's Tony and Gwen -- now both blond, Gwen's momentary pink gone platinum and pulled up and away from her red trenchcoat. They pick at sandwiches and slurp soup. Could be tomato, could be carrot. Could be both.
The mood is laid-back, but not without a dose of giddiness -- so strong that the couple whose youthful love affair was the foundation for the biggest-selling album ever to emerge from Orange County ("Tragic Kingdom," 17 million and counting) have no reservation in sharing their enthusiasm with a native writer who has spent the better part of the past decade bashing them.
There's a new album to talk about, sure -- and it's by far the most entertaining of the band's 15-year run. But there's a more pressing topic to discuss: It's Oct. 22, and in a few weeks No Doubt will get to open for the Most Important Band in the World, including three nights at Staples Center.
The mere mention of U2 seems to bring as much anxiety as excitement. "We rehearsed two new songs last week," Gwen says. "And we were freakin' out. It was, like ... uh-oh."
Understand, Gwen Stefani tends to talk faster than most people think, a ceaseless stream of fluid comments and halting non sequiturs interrupted only by rejoinders such as "like," "whatever" and "wow." So a simple "uh-oh" says more than you might imagine.
They discuss how they will approach performing their new single, "Hey Baby," chamomile-sipping Gwen's fly-on-the-wall observation of her mates' after-show groupie-fueled debauchery. ("Lately our shows have really been about the after-shows," she says.) Apart from drummer Adrian Young's Police-like interpretation of the song's Jamaican dancehall groove, it will feature a first -- the remaining four (Kanal, guitarist Tom Dumont and longtime touring pals Gabrial McNair and Stephen Bradley) all playing keyboards.
Probably.
"I have to make a judgment call about that tonight," Tony says to Gwen, " 'cause it might be missing real bass on the verses." They discuss it more -- and for a moment, it's as if I'm not there. Just spying on their process.
Eventually Tony steers away from the enormity of the U2 shows, tries to bring the band down from its pedestal.
"Through a bunch of mutual friends we got to go drinking with them one night -- and those guys can really drink. Which was really great to see, because we like to drink, too. It's truly inspiring to see someone like Bono, who is so politically active, so aware of what's going on in the world and does such good things for people ... but he still loves to drink."
Gwen: "He called me the devil the next day."
Tony: "He doesn't like to be outdrank."
This is No Doubt 2001: new 30-somethings who write and record by day, party by night, live for fun at all times -- and, most importantly, do whatever they want.
Just do it quickly.
"We've definitely lived day-by-day this year," Tony explains, as Gwen points out that they started writing songs Jan. 2 and have managed to get "Rock Steady" (in stores Tuesday) finished before the end of the year. "For us to put out a record in the same year that we started writing it," Tony says, "that's a huge accomplishment for No Doubt."
Remember: After issuing its largely ignored debut, it took the band three years to make "Tragic Kingdom" -- "and no one thought it would ever come out anyway," Gwen says. Which was why they cobbled together the self-released "Beacon Street Collection" in the meantime.
Two years of touring led to two more years making "Return of Saturn," last year's artistically mature, self-evaluating leap forward, highlighted by the group's masterstroke, "A Simple Kind of Life." Sure, sales-wise it was a drop-off from "Kingdom"; it "only" sold 3 million copies.
"But I think they got bigger off that album than `Tragic Kingdom,' " says Jim Guerinot, the band's manager. "People's only barometer for how big or influential a band is anymore is SoundScan. It's just not the case. A month ago, No Doubt was bigger than when they were selling out two nights at the Pond on the `Tragic Kingdom' tour. ... You're seeing the development of people above and beyond their singles."
The fact that Gwen took home favorite female artist Sunday at the viewer-voted My VH1 Music Awards without having recorded much beyond a cameo for rapper Eve this year might be a better indicator of the band's sustained popularity.
"Rock Steady," Guerinot believes, finds No Doubt at its most "creatively fearless." It's hard to disagree. Gwen and Co. may suffer from butterflies in the presence of veterans, but that didn't keep them from working with an impressive array of producers and performers this time out.
They flew to London to collaborate with Nellee Hooper, known for his work with Bjrk. They rethought a "Saturn" leftover, "Waiting Room," from a Minneapolis visit with Prince. In L.A., they hooked up with everyone from Madonna cohort William Orbit and Cars frontman Ric Ocasek to hip-hop titans Dr. Dre and Timbaland and newcomers the Neptunes.
Most vital to the success of "Rock Steady," though, was a spontaneous trip to Jamaica that Tony organized. There they teamed with legendary producers Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare, noted hotshots Steely & Clevie and toasters Bounty Killer and Lady Saw -- all of whom are partly responsible for the emergence of dancehall, an infectious lurch of a sound (check "Hey Baby") that is to reggae what hip-hop is to R&B. Forget ska: This is the music that No Doubt has been overdosing on all year.
"The success that we've had has afforded us the opportunity to work with these people," Tony says, "and if we didn't take the opportunity, it would be so, so wrong."
"But it wasn't planned," Gwen adds. "We honestly wanted to get just one person to do the record, but there was nobody available. ... Everything was crazy. Tony just got us to Jamaica and we had that experience. It wasn't like, well, what are we going to do next? We didn't know."
Yet much more than affording them the opportunity to work with the most sought-after talents in the industry, success has enabled them to just as easily decline the results. The Prince cut didn't work for "Saturn," but it fits neatly on "Rock Steady." Likewise, they say, the harder-edged production from Dre and Timbaland and Neptunes -- a pedigree most acts would kill for -- didn't make sense in the new album's overall sound.
More often than not, demo versions they cut were ideal, needing only finishing touches and a full set of lyrics.
Which brings us to Gwen and her famous journal -- the one that burst with heartbreak over her split with Tony for "Tragic Kingdom" and brimmed with uncertainty about the future for "Saturn."
"It was barely filled for this (album)," she admits.
So ... ?
"I'm in a really good mood!" she explains, then laughs. Accolades and respect, a cool house in Los Feliz and life with Bush's Gavin Rossdale is peachy -- "I had a great year, and I have nothing to complain about." There are a few glimpses of the old Gwen, paranoid cuts like "Detective" and "In My Head." "But I'm always gonna be that jealous girl, you know what I mean? And these are just 12 songs. My life is so much bigger than 12 songs."
She doesn't worry about whether anyone can relate these days. "I just write honestly and see what comes out. I don't have much to hide. I don't have a lot of dark secrets. I would hope for my sake that someone can relate, 'cause that would mean I'm normal.
"But I think the lyrics on this record are really snapshot-y, because I tried to write them when we wrote the songs, that same afternoon. ... I didn't want to get caught up. I got into such a hole last time. I learned a lot and I challenged myself and I wanted to become a writer -- like, I only learned how to write songs on `Tragic Kingdom,' just realized that I could do it, and it felt so good when I would do it, that on a personal level I could write something about my life. And then I could learn from it."
Something else they may have to learn from this time out: how to recover from accusations of cultural carpetbagging.
Though it's something of a hodgepodge, incorporating plenty of '80s new-wave and synth-pop, "Rock Steady" very likely will be the album that brings Jamaican dancehall to mainstream America. "And if that happens," Guerinot says, "if some kid watching `TRL' or listening to KIIS or KROQ starts to wonder who Sly and Robbie are, then that will be a major victory."
But ask Paul Simon or Sting: Borrowing exotic sounds can lead to a backlash.
"People are gonna do what they're gonna do," Tony says, unfazed. "You know what? When we made this record, we had two goals in mind: to have a lot of fun with it and to be able to go to dance clubs and dance to our songs. That's a big deal for us. That's it."
Clearly it proves once and for all that they are no longer an O.C. band, despite their family roots. But neither are they an L.A. band simply because they've moved. "If anything, we're an international band now," Tony says. "That's how we see ourselves."
And to hear them tell it, they're tighter than ever.
"I think (`Rock Steady') is such a perfect title for it," Gwen says, reciting the song's mantra, the same one that opens the album in a snippet: " `A real love survives, a rock steady vibe.' It really does reflect the way we feel right now."