Disney pop

No Doubt rules at Great Woods

by Joan Anderman

Growing up in Anaheim, land of manicured lawns, reactionary politics, and the Magic Kingdom, is excuse enough for a bit of metaphorical chromosome reshuffling. Hence we have No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom, the musical equivalent of a mutant amusement park. Bastard offspring, if you will, of "The Happiest Place on Earth" -- where the cartoons are cranked, Tinker Bell has traded her sparkly leotard for designer warm-ups and teeny halters, and spooks vanish on command when the bottle-blonde sprite screams "Fuck you, I'm a girl!" from atop a mountainous speaker bay.

I confess I didn't quite get No Doubt at first. Gwen Stefani's wacky combo of tongue-in-cheek shtick, glamorous pin-up girl, and tough rock chick pretty much canceled out the overall credibility. And there's no excuse, not even the Orange County defense, for the sap and bombast of "Don't Speak," the band's massively successful single, which would be quite at home on a Celine Dion record. But No Doubt's ska roots, Stefani's manic delivery, and the band's cheeky, relentlessly upbeat attitude amid the sturm und drang combine in an oddly hot-and-wholesome way that added up to fun for the whole family a week ago at Great Woods.

In spite of haunted-forest stage sets straight from Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and an entrance heralded by the theme music from Disneyland's late great Electrical Parade, No Doubt transcended the frolicsome kitsch that sustains the CD and put on a kick-ass arena show. Hard, dark dirt flew throughout, beginning with the gritty guitar tango of "Tragic Kingdom." Stefani, in a black feather coat and new cropped hairdo, dashed and skipped across the stage like a cross-training punk, whipping her schizy vibrato to and fro while the band crashed headlong into the brisk "Excuse Me Mr." A dreadlocked pair of horn players blew to the wind, and Tom Dumont's guitar skanked sideways into "Different People" under the thick, rubbery thumb of bassist Tony Kanal. And on and on for a seamless 90-minute set, broken only by the goofy antics of three Elvis impersonators with Dustbusters and an inexplicable episode involving Gwen and a swirly pink scarf.

Wonder of wonders: this is a live band. Three songs in, I understood what kept Gwen's "loser group" alive for 10 years without a hit in sight: a sticky nightclub in suburban Anaheim would, in fact, be the dreamiest spot on earth to bask in the party vibe that drives No Doubt. Moreover, back then Gwen wasn't gagging her devoted fans with a spoon by coyly asking in her little Minnie voice, "Does anyone here by any chance have the Tragic Kingdom record?"

Face to Face, a beefy, tattoo'd outfit from Southern California, warmed the early arrivals and dutiful critics with bottomless loads of power chords, slashing, unison guitars, and Green Dayish bushy-tailed punk. Weezer's dorky novelty songs and raggedy, hummable Clash-meets-Goo Goo Dolls rockers were, as ever, fetching, but never quite as enchanting as Stefani's ride through the Magic Kingdom.