Gwen Stefani Book Extract

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No Doubt About It
Driven by a love of all things 2-Tone and led by reluctant star Gwen Stefani, Orange County hopefuls No Doubt made their public debut at Long Beach's Fender's Ballroom in early 1987. But the moshpit madness at Fender's wasn't quite in keeping with the Stefanis' straight-arrow upbringing, as revealed in this extract from Jeff Apter's book A Simple Kind Of Life (Omnibus Press 2007).

LIKE THE RESIDENTS of the senior citizens' home that was located nearby, Fender's Ballroom [in Long Beach, California] had seen much better days. Built around the time of WWI, it was on the site of what was originally a Hilton hotel that had gone condo in the Seventies and been converted into a 20-storey beachside high rise. Its occupants were mainly blue-rinse retirees. The venue itself was formerly the car park of the Hilton, which had been remade into a ballroom. As salubrious as that sounds, Fender's Ballroom was anything but. The 800-capacity club filled with as many as 1,600 punks, according to one report, when The Ramones played there in 1986. Its ceilings were barely 10 feet high and there was no air conditioning. Two unfortunately positioned pillars (they were on the stage) made it hard to actually see whatever band was playing. And the venue's sound system was rubbish, according to Ken Phebus, who booked acts into Fender's Ballroom for many years. "It was just a bunch of old stuff that they blasted out as loudly as possible," he recalled. Inside the room, conversation was impossible because the music was cranked to such intense volume. "You could see people's lips moving, but you couldn't hear anything," Phebus said. ([No Doubt's first manager] Doug Fatone recalled seeing Motorhead at Fender's Ballroom and not being able to hear for days afterwards.) On some nights, when the volume was particularly excessive, club owner John Fender would lock the exit doors, in an attempt to keep noise pollution levels at a minimum. To keep costs down, there was only one burly guy at the door in charge of security (at least theoretically). "It was pretty wild," Phebus said. "We didn't try to control it; we just tried to keep the volume down. There'd be broken legs and arms in the moshpit and blood everywhere. It was wild, it was simply nuts, and it's a miracle that it lasted that long, especially in such a conservative town." (Long Beach was the holiday venue of choice for many mid-westerners, whose conservative politics had taken hold there.)

If the ON Klub [in LA] was the House of Sweat, Fender's Ballroom was surely some kind of Punk Rock Hell, although [No Doubt's co-manager Gerald] Lokstadt felt that the club "was good for Long Beach. It was the only thing happening at Long Beach."

Phebus recalled one night when The Untouchables' drummer passed out mid-set, a victim of heat exhaustion. "We thought they guy was dead," he said. "We called 911, the whole bit." On another occasion, Phebus was approached by some local vice cops – Fender's regulars – who told him that there was a situation that he had to fix right away. They led him to the venue's ticket window, which was clouded in thick and pungent dope smoke. Inside was Gary Tovar, Paul Tollett's partner at Goldenvoice, which provided most of the bands for Fender's. When Phebus approached him, Tovar was "puffing away on a huge spliff with some friends, oblivious to the rest of the world. And this occurred almost every night." (Tovar would eventually be busted for dealing in what Phebus referred to as "Maui carpets" and did some hard time in the late Eighties, which forced him to sell Goldenvoice to Tollett. When he was released, Jim Guerinot – now No Doubt's manager at a company called Rebel Waltz – organised a fundraiser on his behalf.)

The nearby residents empathised with the local vice cops: they weren't too thrilled by Fender's Ballroom, either. They'd stroll back to the condo after another slow day, look up at the marquee and note that Love Canal and Doggy Style would soon be appearing, the night after The Righteous Brothers, Ricky Nelson and Ray Charles. (Phebus was very open to more mainstream artists; the first act he booked for Fender's was Joe Cocker.) "Surprisingly," Phebus said, "there were never that many problems with the police, apart from noise complaints. But that was understandable – you'd have these senior citizens living 50 feet away from this venue where bands played at ear-piercing volume."

As for the owner of the venue, the enigmatic John Fender, Phebus remembered him as "a real estate guy; a real wheeler-dealer – and a shady character." In order to run Fender's Ballroom as a live venue he'd applied for a dance permit, which stated that he'd host "seniors' swing nights'". With such bands as The Ramones, The Untouchables, The Donkey Show and a fledgling No Doubt providing the music, apparently.

Gerald Lokstadt had a much more explicit memory of John Fender. "[He] was a big coke addict," Lokstadt said. "You'd come in and ask if you could book a gig on Friday or Saturday and he'd look at his calendar and go, 'Yeah', and then offer you this big ol' pile of coke. That's all he did, day and night."

According to Doug Fatone, there were strong rumours that Fender sometimes even paid bands with Bolivian marching powder.

Ken Phebus readily admits to partaking in the lifestyle; he said that Fender's was a place that was crawling with drugs and undercover cops "trying to mingle. Anything that you could ingest that might open your mind was being taken there." The local authorities were always hoping to shut down Fender's; eventually the venue was wiped out after an unsolved, and highly suspicious, arson attack.

The [original] members of No Doubt weren't all straight arrows like the "conscientious, well-educated, hard-working, drug-free" Stefanis, according to Oberman. "John [Spence] might have smoked some pot and I wouldn't have been surprised if Alan and Tony [Meade] smoked some pot, too.'

The debauchery that was on nightly display at Fender's Ballroom must have shocked No Doubt to their OC core. Although it's never been confirmed, it was suggested that the band, during its sort-of-residency at Fender's, may even have chanced upon heroin-addicted members of The Red Hot Chili Peppers spiking up backstage. It wouldn't have been out of character – it was just another night at Fender's.

"I'd call it a dump," said Mike Miller, the Stefanis' Loara High buddy and life-long friend. "Originally it must have been really nice, but by the time No Doubt were playing there, it was a dump. There was bad sound, bad security."

In spite of all this illegal activity, No Doubt's debut at Fender's Ballroom was done with the best of intentions: The gig itself was a fundraiser, organised by Oberman and Lokstadt, going by the name of Scooter Aid.

"The Vespa/Lambretta shop [in LA] burned down," said Lokstadt, "so we did this fundraiser, with The Untouchables headlining. No Doubt were the opening act. There were 10 bands for 15 bucks – the UTs and all these power-pop and ska bands in between." The line-up was set in stone – other bands on the bill included The Key, The Standards, Sold, The Crooks, The Subway, Instep and The Upbeats. And it was agreed that The Untouchables would be the only band getting paid ($1,000). The day before the gig, Lokstadt and Oberman got a call from the managers of The Donkey Show. "They asked if they could also play," said Lokstadt, "so they opened the show. It was the first time that No Doubt and The Donkey Show actually met each other."

"There was no rivalry as far as I recall," said Alan Meade. "Everyone got along great and we had many shows together with the same bands. We just had a blast."

The madness in the moshpit at Fender's that night was the same as any other, except this time it was one of the men from Spot who was actively involved. Midway through the set, a drunken Oberman decided to get in on the action, as Lokstadt recalled. "Fender's had these beams which held up the ceiling, so there's these two freakin' beams right in the middle of the stage. [During No Doubt's set] Paul Oberman jumped up on one of them, hanging upside down. He's wearing these 12- or 13-hole Docs and he decides to take a jump into the crowd. But they didn't catch him – they just parted – and he headed right onto the dancefloor, ankles first. His ankle was swollen up to the size of a watermelon. It was crazy."

Jerry Miller of The Untouchables also recalls No Doubt's debut fondly, if not quite as painfully as Paul Oberman. "I do remember that gig, although some of them are a bit foggy," he told me. "I think there was a wedding reception going on in another part of the building. So there was a wedding happening and then all these people turn up on scooters and stuff. That place had some wild gigs – reggae shows, punk rock shows – with a bunch of disrespectful kids doing what they do, having a good time."

Scooter-aid was no windfall for the band and Spot Productions, financially-speaking. After graduating high school in May 1987, Gwen Stefani manned the counter at The Broadway department store. Oberman held down a job in a Cash & Carry warehouse, and at night, fuelled by acid, would attend gigs. All the time everyone involved with No Doubt was aware of Gwen's 11 p.m. curfew, which hung over the band like a long black cloud.

Now a parent himself, Oberman has finally come to understand this restriction that the Stefanis' parents placed on their daughter at the time. "They were very protective," he said. "I don't think they ever took the band too seriously, no matter how big the shows got. Their position was: 'Your future comes first, the band is a nice hobby'. We couldn't convince the parents to allow them [to tour]."

According to Doug Fatone, the Stefanis were "really nice, conservative people who thought the band was just a phase." And while Gwen may have given the impression that she toed the family line, her performance that first night at Fender's suggested otherwise. "I always thought of her as this quiet, shy Catholic girl," Fatone said. "And then at the Scooter-aid show she flashed her bloomers at the crowd. She really belonged on that stage."

No Doubt gigs followed in the wake of Scooter-aid: a month later they played Gino's in Hollywood, a club that Oberman used to frequent. They returned to Fender's Ballroom on April 25 and June 12, 1987, and played an OC house party in early June. After their debut at The Roxy in Hollywood on June 19, they re-united with The Untouchables for a gig at Santa Monica's legendary Madame Wong's West on June 28. Run by the revered Esther Wong – who was then in her late sixties, and would often patrol her club, trying to sniff out dope smokers – the venue has hosted everyone from Oingo Boingo to The Police, X to The Motels and The Knack. But for [the Untouchables'] Jerry Miller, the gig was more memorable for what occurred before the bands actually reached the venue.

Miller had reached out to the Orange County novices and invited them to a pre-gig get-together, to be held at his friend's house in Santa Monica. In attendance was all-girl group Rebel Pebbles, who were also on the Madame Wong's bill. "It's kind of a cute story," he said. "It was real early on in No Doubt's career; they were youngsters. [Gwen Stefani was still a few months shy of her 18th birthday.] They drove up from Orange County and came to a friend of mine's house to hang out before the show, and they turned up with seven large pizzas. So we're hanging out, drinking Cokes, listening to music, and about an hour after we finished eating, they stopped and went and grabbed mops and did the dishes, vacuumed, cleaned up the whole apartment without anyone asking. I thought, 'Wow, these kids have a good upbringing, man'. I'd never really experienced that. It was their way of sharing their gratitude. I thought that was cute. They have manners; so many people come through and have a good time and party, but this was different."

No Doubt was also starting to develop the musical chops to accompany their good housekeeping skills. Clearly, the band's relationship with The Untouchables – and, soon after, Fishbone – was based on more than manners. Were they good openers?, I asked Miller. "Oh yeah, definitely," he replied. "Our bands were similar in that respect; we both had lots of energy and fed off the crowd. And we were both fans of ska music; we came straight off the dance floor, basically, and we brought that attitude to the stage. It was important to give to the crowd and they would definitely get the crowd going." Paul Oberman could also see the development in the band, after only a handful of live gigs. "With John and Gwen as lead singers," he said, "well, they were very dynamic, they just had great chemistry."

"John didn't really sing," Gwen Stefani said, when asked about her former bandmate. "He yelled and screamed and did these backflips, and I was like his little sidekick. Originally [No Doubt was] just a bunch of people that didn't know how to play their instruments trying to imitate the music they loved, which was ska. I never wanted to be a rock girl." What Stefani and the band couldn't have known was that they were about to be hit right between the eyes by the type of tragedy that would kill most bands stone dead.

© Jeff Apter, 2007