IN A SENSE, the band is back where it started. Formed in Anaheim, California in 1986—largely as an outlet for Gwen’s older brother Eric’s quirky ska-pop—the band’s earliest success was found on the road. A sweaty, energetic live show won them plenty of SoCal fans (and built some strong internal bonds: Kanal and Stefani were in a long-term relationship), but the sound didn’t travel. Their first nine years were spent in the limbo between local heroes and national nobodies. “It was so exciting to have a following and know we could go play as far away as San Diego and people would show up,” recalls Dumont from behind the wheel of his black Yukon. He’s dressed in a gray hoodie, black jeans, and green Chuck Taylors. The Pacific glistens outside the driver’s side window. “It was hard to understand when our record company called us a failure because we only sold 25,000 copies of our first album.”

They sold some ten million more than that of their third, 1995’s Tragic Kingdom. (Eric left shortly before the album’s release to pursue a career in animation.) Unabashedly perky and deceptively deep, Kingdom’s hits “Just a Girl,” “Sunday Morning,” and “Don’t Speak” (about Kanal and Stefani’s breakup) drove a gilded scrunchie deep into grunge’s heart.

But 2000’s Return of Saturn, written immediately after a marathon two-year tour, traded Kingdom’s primary pop colors for standard postadoles-cent revelations in songs such as “Marry Me” and “Six Feet Under.” The album sold a tenth as many copies as its predecessor. It also planted a seed.

S T YLING FOR GWEN S TEFANI B Y ANDREA LIEBERMAN; S T YLING FOR O THER BAND MEMBERS BY CHRIS TOPHER KREILING; HAIR BY ANDY LECOMP TE AT SOLO AR TIS TS; MAKEUP BY KATH Y JEUNG, USING CHANEL AT THE MAGNE T AGENC Y; SE T DESIGN B Y SHAWN PATRICK ANDERSON AT ART DEPAR TMEN T

“When we were touring Saturn, the shows weren’t packed to the rafters, but we had a fucking great time,” says Dumont. He’s on the way from his home in Long Beach to pick up a custom-made speaker cabinet in nearby Newport Beach that he plans to use while recording the new album, wherever and whenever that may be.

“That tour was when Tony discovered Jamaican dancehall music. We’d play it backstage for hours after shows—it was all about not worrying and having fun. We ended up going right from that tour into Rock Steady. That was kind of the idea behind what we’re doing now—just getting back into the vibe of being in No Doubt and remembering how awesome that is. Whether we get inspired the same way, we’ll have to wait and see.”

During his time off from the band, Dumont and his wife, Mieke, had two sons, Ace, 3, and Rio, 1. He also branched out into production work, helming two albums by skateboarder turned singer-songwriter Matt Costa.

Taking a hand from the steering wheel to scratch his gray-flecked goatee, Dumont explains how the No Doubt machine creaked back into action. “I called Tony and Adrian up in 2007 to get together and write. The plan was to have new music ready for Gwen to write lyrics to as soon as she finished touring The Sweet Escape.”

The Gwenless approach had worked for the band before, notably on 2002’s Top 5 single “Hey Baby.” It didn’t work this time.

“We hit on a handful of ideas that we might come back to,” says Dumont. “But without Gwen writing lyrics or melodies, there’s only so much we could do.”

It was during a second writing session last winter at a then-pregnant Stefani’s Hollywood home that the band realized what it had to do to feel like a family again. “We ended up having group therapy,” says Stefani, back at the studio. “We would talk about crazy stuff, like how the process that we used before is not gonna work anymore. To be the mom and the lead singer and the songwriter and the best friend of these guys,” she pauses, “there was a lot leaning on my shoulders. I couldn’t have a baby, then sit in a studio for a year making an album.”

Kanal also feels the talks were a turning point. “Those were some very emotional discussions,” he says. “We’re still under contract for a record, but Interscope appreciates that we have to put out the right record. We have to ease back into this. I understand the skepticism people might have about a band going on tour without any new songs, but this is not us being a nostalgia act. This is not a cash grab. This is a necessary step in No Doubt making another record.”

Dumont remembers that around the same time his band was sorting itself out, he found himself continually clearing up a common misconception. “Everyone thought the band had broken up because Gwen was doing her own thing,” he says. “I’d tell family members that we were working on new music, and they’d go, ‘Really? Who’s singing?’ ”

ADRIAN YOUNG PULLS his metallic green 1962 Park Avenue Cadillac into the parking lot of the Virginia Country Club in Long Beach. He steps out of the car, resplendent in green and blue plaid slacks, a white long-sleeved T-shirt, and a black cardigan—a far cry from the thongs he used to favor onstage. “I’ve been a member for a year,” says the drummer. “My mentor moved here from another golf club. That’s the main reason I joined.”

Young, whose fit build, strong jaw, ramrod posture, and Technicolor clothing make him resemble a psychedelic Marine, plays to a plus-one handicap. His personal best round is a 66. For those unfamiliar with golf parlance, that means he’s really fucking good.

“I’m not worried that going on tour will hurt my progress,” says Young, who invested in gonzo golf mag Schwing! in the late ’90s. “I’ll practice in the mornings and play on off days.” He tried to get his son, Mason, 7, into the game. “I kind of burned him out already,” he says, frowning. “You can’t force it.”

The plan for this afternoon is to eat and then work with his 9-iron. Young enters the club’s dark wood and oxblood leather dining room and takes a seat at a table near a TV tuned to ESPN. He’s in a feisty mood, and not just because his long game has been giving him problems.

“GOSSIP GIRL IS
TOTALLY THE KIND
OF THING I WOULD
WATCH. BUT IF THE
CHOICE IS BETWEEN
sleeping and watching TV,
then I’m going to sleep.”

GWEN STEFANI

“No Doubt is absolutely still relevant,” says Young. “I don’t know if you know this, but during Gwen’s show in Irvine last June, we did a surprise encore as No Doubt,” he pokes the air with his fork for emphasis, “and that crowd was piercingly loud. Louder than any crowd I ever remember. That night put to rest any doubts I had about our relevance or legacy.”

Paramore’s Hayley Williams, whose four-men-and-a-lady band is opening for No Doubt this summer, needed no such convincing. “I respect them all so much,” she says. “They toured around in a van for years before they blew up.

They slept on floors. They’re not a marketing gimmick or a bunch of studio friends. They’re a real band and they’ve had this amazing success. That’s what we all aspire to. All my friends are stoked that they’re back.”

The 20-year-old singer also has a special love for Stefani. “Gwen is a big deal to me,” Williams says. “She was one of the first people I heard who wrote from a girl’s point of view. I always related to what she was singing about, whether it was ‘Just a Girl’ and being disrespected, or ‘Simple Kind of Life’ and wanting to have a family. I don’t know a girl who doesn’t think of her as a role model.”

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