By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Gwen Stefani and Tony Kanal were in a London bar one night last summer, taking an all-night break from a long day of mixing tracks for No Doubt's latest album, Rock Steady, when in walks maybe the biggest rock star in the world.
"Bono came out and met us because we had a lot of mutual friends," explains Kanal. "We drank with him. And I'll tell you—like I was telling Gwen earlier—the cool thing, the inspiring thing about that guy is that you see Bono, and he's totally got his shit together. He's this great musician—legendary now—and he's politically active, helping people beyond, like, our wildest dreams."
"He really does it!" Stefani interjects.
"And on top of it, he likes to drink and really let go," Kanal continues, "which, to me, makes it very real."
"He's Irish!" Stefani says.
"But it's cool to find that balance in life," Kanal says, forging ahead, "of doing the things that are important, but enjoying yourself, too."
"Enjoying day-to-day life," Stefani offers.
Her final comment makes a feather-light landing, and the conversation drifts away without anybody really noticing—replaced for a moment by the lingering memory of that night in London, its lessons and their implications.
This is how they do it, Gwen and Tony, interview after interview, a half-hour or an hour at a time, sometimes all day when a new album is coming out (Rock Steady is being released Tuesday). Last time, barely 18 months ago, when Return to Saturn was about to drop, they did it at Gwen's place, a mansion in the hills near Griffith Park. This time, it's at Tony's home at the bottom of the hill, sitting around a table on the backyard patio of an old house he has made completely his own in a funkily gentrified neighborhood of Los Feliz. In Spanish, that means "the happy ones."
It's a nice, sunny day. The garden is old Southern California suburban gorgeous—a small, green lawn surrounded along the wooden fence and stuccoed house by well-troweled beds of flowers and shrubs—and the air is quiet except for the soft murmur of traffic a block or so away. We're all sipping hot tea.
And then: "Tony!"
Kanal is startled from his lethargy to see Stefani, his long-ago ex-girlfriend, take a piece of gum from her mouth and throw it across the patio into his precise landscaping.
"Gwen! Stop doing that!" he snaps, real irritation serrating the edge of his cool. "You threw one over there, too. Earlier, you did. Did this one go on the . . . the thing—the sidewalk, I mean—or is it somewhere in the grass?"
Stefani giggles with mischief and defiance and then ignores him completely.
"This is Tony's house," she tells you, with sass, "so I can throw my gum"—she pulls another piece from her mouth—"like that"—and she chucks it across the patio—"and his mom's not gonna come and get mad or anything like she used to when we were kids."
Kanal is exasperated, but he has known Stefani since 11th grade. He has seen much worse than this playful rebellion against his mother's long-ago scolding. Hell, everybody who heard Return to Saturn—which dripped with the what's-it-all-about lyrics of Stefani's turning-30 depression—realizes there's worse than that.
Kanal waits out Stefani's little button-pushing episode and then steers the interview back on course. "We had a really good time making the record," he says slowly and then looks expectantly at Stefani.
"Yes," she says dutifully, "we did."
They go silent for a moment before simultaneously breaking into laughter.
This is how it has been for Tony and Gwen for—well, it seems like forever. Rock Steady is No Doubt's fifth album, but nobody noticed the first two. They were doing this long before Gwen could tell about the time one of her idols, Joni Mitchell, complimented her for "Simple Kind of Life" when they saw each other on the same plane. They were doing it long before Tony could sheepishly apologize to Ric Ocasek for writing a song influenced so much by the Cars ("Platinum Blonde Life")—and before Ocasek could sheepishly apologize that he really hadn't noticed the resemblance.
Not that Gwen and Tony seem to drop these names with arrogance or calculation. "I mean, can you believe we had the opportunity to write a song with the guy who wrote 'Sweet Dreams'?" Stefani gushed, in reference to Dave Stewart of the Eurythmics. And, speaking of gushing, she reports that Puff Daddy approached her at a party to report that he had heard the new record. "He said he had to change his pants after hearing it—that he peed his pants, he liked it so much," Stefani says, perhaps offering an inadvertent insight into the hip-hop mogul's new P. Diddy moniker.
Mostly, however, these illustrious names seem to emerge naturally in conversation, which, in this case, illustrates the essential message of the new album: with Rock Steady, No Doubt has officially ascended into the pop-music aristocracy.
Sure, Orange County's long-ago house band has been world-famous for seven or eight years. But the 15 million sales of Tragic Kingdom could have been a Spice Girls aberration. And the 1.4 million sales of Return to Saturn was nearly a Hootie and the Blowfish disappointment. But rather than descending into the world of Geri Halliwell or Darius Rucker, Gwen and Tony have emerged as something like their generation's Sonny & Cher. By now, the crŤme de la MTV has become No Doubt's for-real runnin' buddies. In half an hour, they mention Bono, Prince, Kid Rock, Puff Daddy/P. Diddy, Ric Ocasek, Nellee Hooper, Steely & Clevie, Joni Mitchell, the Neptunes, William Orbit, Sly & Robbie, Bounty Killer, Dave Stewart, Eve, Jimmy Iovine, and Dr. Dre. There are times during the interview when it's obvious Gwen and Tony are trying not to mention a celebrity, perhaps self-conscious about the impression they may be creating. But by now, Gwen and Tony get their names dropped as often as any of the others.