Revisited: No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom
Every so often, we'll revisit key moments in pop culture that shaped us. Here we look back at Tragic Kingdom, which No Doubt began recording 20 years ago this month.
Every so often, we’ll be revisiting key moments in pop culture that shaped us. Here we look back on No Doubt’s classic album Tragic Kingdom – which they started recording 20 years ago this month.
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The Start
The Start
These days we take it for granted that pop stars come as a package deal. With each new song by Nicki or Robyn or Rihanna comes a new video, a new look, a new and colourful style to complement the music – the kinds of extras that add to the pop experience and make it all so much fun. As an awkward teen in the ‘90s, there was only one person who came close to embodying all the fun stuff about pop, while simultaneously kicking untold amounts of ass and producing great music: Gwen Stefani of No Doubt.
Ladies And Gentlemen: The ’90s.
As a kid, the music you like plays a big part in shaping your still-forming identity – it’s something concrete that you can shelter behind as you figure out who exactly you are and who you’re going to be. I knew it was time to break away from my mum and dad’s music, but pop seemed too bland, and there was nothing in the aggressive, dude-dominated world of alternative rock that spoke to me. Then came the morning that I caught No Doubt’s ‘Spiderwebs’ on Video Hits, and everything clicked into place.
I didn’t fully understand what I was seeing, but I was pretty sure it was excellent all the same. Here was a band fronted by a cute-as-a-button girl who nonetheless had a distinct toughness, an air that suggested you shouldn’t dare mess with her. The music didn’t sound like pop, but it felt like pop – it was punchy, with a push and pull between soft and loud that really made sense. It featured a loping beat, a horn section and other elements of what I would soon come to understand were punk and ska.
I immediately went out and bought a copy of No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom and, needless to say, it had a big impact. My best friend and I played it constantly. It blared out of tiny speakers on bus trips, and in our rooms after school. We even formed a No Doubt cover band – she played bass, I played keyboards, and we somehow talked one of the cool girls from the grade above us into being our Gwen Stefani. We were a bit scared of her but made sure not to let on. We were called Blush, and in case you were wondering, yes, we were hella tight.
The Songs
It felt like No Doubt belonged to us, but of course, they belonged to everybody. Tragic Kingdom was their breakthrough album, although it took time. A modest success on its original release in 1995, it built, over the next two years, to become a monster hit. In that time, seven singles were released – exactly half the tracks on the album. The songs were punchy and energetic, each one a little pop sugar rush for you to crank up loud while pogo-ing around the room. But they felt unlike anything else on the charts, and even a little bit dangerous.
The question of Tragic Kingdom’s biggest hit is debatable, but its signature song was surely ‘Just A Girl’. A hectic three and a half minutes, it acts as a statement of purpose; sweetness with a sting in the tail. The lyrics put forward the notion that girls are feeble creatures, in need of constant protection, but the delivery not-so-subtly proved otherwise. It was another example of the loud/soft dynamic that No Doubt employed so effectively. Gwen’s breathy delivery of the verses, followed by her howling declaration of “AHHHHHM JUST A GUUUURRRRRRRRL” in the chorus only further underscored the air of don’t-you-dare-fuck-with-me’ she gave off. I think the theme of the ‘Just A Girl’ video may have something to do with shattering glass ceilings, but basically: the boys get a gross bathroom and Gwen Stefani get a nice one and then the barriers get broken down and everyone has a great time.
If the ska-punk sound of Tragic Kingdom set it apart from many pop albums, so too did its length. It packed 14 songs into the space of just under an hour, and packed a great deal of material into that time. Being a pop album, it was front-loaded with hits and upbeat material, but it’s the album’s weird middle section in which many of the best tracks are hidden. ‘The Climb’ is all about striving – for what it’s never made clear, but the languid pace instils a weird sense of urgency and menace. ‘Sixteen’ is a howl of teen angst, its young protagonist pleading to be taken seriously by her olders and betters. Where most of the pop music I knew centred on themes of dancing and partying and falling in love, Tragic Kindgom felt like an album with something to say.
Songs about love – or love gone bad, at any rate – certainly played a part. ‘Don’t Speak’ was the big ballad, a weepy, semi-acoustic number about a couple in a state of free-fall. Its chorus – “Don’t speak, I know what you are thinking” – captured something very particular and sad about break-ups (although at the time, my first one of those was still to come). Stefani wrote ‘Don’t Speak’ about her relationship with band-mate Tony Kanal, but the video took the theme of break-ups a step further, presenting a sly commentary on how, even then, her popularity had begun to obscure the rest of the band.
My favourite song was ‘Sunday Morning’, another breakup song, but a far more direct and entertaining one: a summary dismissal of a disappointing lover complete with horn stabs and a stomping chorus. Blush did a kickass version of ‘Sunday Morning’.
Back To Top
The Legacy
When I said before that Tragic Kingdom belonged to everybody, I wasn’t kidding. The album has sold upwards of 16 million copies around the world. It doesn’t enjoy the same critical reputation as other albums of its era, but its impact at the time felt pretty big. Gwen Stefani became a bona fide celebrity, and the world let out a simultaneous ‘awwwwww’ when she married her rock star crush Gavin Rossdale. The two No Doubt albums that followed produced a number of hits – ‘Hella Good’ and ‘Hey Baby’, from the 2001 album Rock Steady, being the biggest of these – although arguably, Gwen Stefani’s biggest success was still ahead of her.
In 2004, Gwen Stefani reinvented herself as a solo artist and released Love Angel Music Baby. It was colourful and eclectic and featured an absolute shitload of collaborations with producers from across the spectrum of pop and hip hop – but most of all, it was fun. Stefani’s solo career got so big that it more or less eclipsed her work with No Doubt. Her second solo album, The Sweet Escape, was far weaker (okay, fine, it was actually pretty terrible), but the title track remains among Stefani’s catchiest songs. Soon after, Stefani took a bit of a break from music to become a cool mum, bequeathing fascinating names and haircuts on her adorable offspring.
Gwen Stefani and her first son, Kingston James McGregor Rossdale.
You wish you were Kingston James McGregor Rossdale.
Late last year, No Doubt released their first studio album in a decade, Push And Shove. It made few concessions to contemporary pop trends: a collection of shiny dancehall and new wave-inspired pop songs, it bounced its way along along on bright, catchy hooks and Gwen Stefani’s brash delivery, and generally harked back to the best of the band’s ‘90s work. It didn’t make a huge impact commercially, and No Doubt were last seen floating away in a hot air balloon in an episode of Portlandia, but Gwen Stefani’s legacy of style, smarts and substance can be seen all throughout pop music.
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Alasdair Duncan is an author, freelance writer and video game-lover who has had work published in Crikey, The Drum, The Brag, Beat, Rip It Up, The Music Network, Rave Magazine, AXN Cult and Star Observer.