lost an early member to suicide, forfeited Gwen Stefani's keyboardist brother, Eric (who co-wrote "Don't Speak"), to a
Simpsons animating job, weathered a breakup between its famous singer and bassist Tony Kanal, and revived pop-y New Wave styles when grunge was king.
Add the fact that ska has pranced back to cult status, and it would be understandable if No Doubt didn't rise to the occasion of their sudden success. But Return of Saturn is a rare achievement: a superstar follow-up that not only betters its predecessor but also radically departs from it. If you liked Tragic Kingdom, you should love Return of Saturn. And if you didn't, you should still love it.
No Doubt's roots range from reggae to Broadway; they're a something-for-everybody band that has finally grasped the means to achieve that deceptively lightweight goal. Fueled by constant touring followed by failed studio sessions with Tragic Kingdom producer Matthew Wilder and more touring, Return of Saturn is a supremely confident concept album about insecurity. Like that "Don't Speak" video in which No Doubt men battle with Stefani for the camera's affections, the extraordinarily tight and authoritative instrumental performances insist this is a band record, one that rocks way harder than the production credit for Glen Ballard (the studio veteran behind Alanis Morissette) might imply. For her part, Stefani pulls a technicolor star turn full of unexpected depth and flattering self-deprecation. Both sides end up winning.
"Ex-Girlfriend" sets the tone. Punk, hip-hop and world beat collide as the mood swings from manic to meditative and back again. Stefani rap-speaks of a doomed, impulsive love, warbles a tricky bridge and spits out singalong choruses as rhythms shift and guitars roar. The unlikely combination jells so effortlessly, you miss its compressed complexity.
A second after "Ex-Girlfriend" ends with a whisper, a folk-guitar strum announces "Simple Kind of Life." Like peak-era R.E.M., this symphonic rock ballad details the tension between a fantasy of romantic commitment and the reality of independence; it manages to be at once grand, fragile and very, very sad. By the time Stefani softly confesses, "I always thought I'd be a mom / Sometimes I wish for a mistake," it's clear this woman whom many desire but few regard as a serious artist has penned a song that can sit on the same shelf with the likes of Elliott Smith and Aimee Mann. Her cutesy vocal mannerisms are gone, replaced by a longing that haunts well after the final chorus fades.
The impro
