Before I talk about the No Doubt show last night, I just have to put this out there: getting to the White River Amphitheater sucks. The websites debating how to drive there most commonly use the words "horrible" and "clusterfuck," and taking the bus is no picnic either. You can catch the 174 or 194 to Federal Way, transfer to the 181 to Auburn (which can be sticky if a capricious bus driver decides to leave early) and then you find yourself chasing around yellow school buses in the parking lot of something called the Auburn Supermall, in the hopes that one of them will shuttle you to the concert.

If it sounds like a daunting prospect, it is. It's also my dog-ate-homework reason for not having anything to report about opening acts The Sounds and Paramore. Sorry. Having seen them in the past, I can mention that, like No Doubt, they are catchy female-fronted pop-rock bands you might have seen on the Warped Tour, with the difference being that the Sounds veer into pop-electro while Paramore keeps it pop-emo.

Anyway, if you survived the transit debacle, you were pretty heftily rewarded for making the trek. White River is well-organized, has great sight lines and great acoustics, and last night's nearly sold out crowd and balmy, perfect weather made for a Summer concert dream come true.

Gwen Stefani hasn't aged a bit. She took the stage looking like a page out of her own book, in bright red lipstick and a cut-off tank top, which prompted Live Nation's Ashley Graham to exclaim, "She looks exactly like she did in 1996, except now her abs are even better!" I nod to concur before Ashley further clarifies, "She's had two babies, Gina. Two babies."

(More after the jump...)

Oh wait, my bad. I've just made the cardinal mistake of equating the band with Gwen Stefani, and with talking about her looks before talking about their music. It's hard not to. C'mon. The big screen projections during the show are rife with images of Gwen pouting and posing, and she's the only one interacting verbally with the audience save for the one sentence from bassist Tony Kanal... which was basically inducing the audience to clap for Gwen.

In truth, the whole band brought a hell of a lot of presence to the stage. Guitarist Tom Dumont can actually shred and keyboardist/percussionist Stephen Bradley could probably have stolen the show with his dance moves if he'd wanted to. But it's the Gwen show. No doubt about that.

It was a good Gwen last night, though; the old Gwen, a sincere, retro Gwen who looked like a young ska fan in the sparkly black and white checkered dress she changed into mid-show. No name-dropping of Chanel or Dolce & Gabbana, none of the fashion-world posturing of her solo career. This Gwen was refreshingly earnest. Girl next door-ish and real, even, despite her 1950s-style beauty. And considering that their set was just hit after monster hit, by the time they got to the video footage of No Doubt clowning around as a young band with no stylist or record label involvement whatsoever, one couldn't help but feel endeared. These guys have been working really hard for about 20 years now, and whether fan-identified or not, most of my generation knows their lyrics by heart.

They started off the show with a powerhouse trifecta: Spiderwebs, Hella Good and Underneath it All. From there it was a tour through their hits both obvious and inexplicable (a slightly out of tune rendition of the power ballad Simple Kind of Life falling into the obvious hit category, while Hey Baby, from the band's questionable 2003 transition from ska-pop to reggae-electro, earns the inexplicable moniker in my book. Hey Baby, to its credit, was rendered interesting to watch with the anachronistic juxtaposition of psychedelic projections, that rude boy dance known as the skank, and the random appearance of a keytar.)

Around the climax of the set came Don't Speak (which still to this day reminds me of Cat Stevens' Wild World, am I alone?), at which point Gwen's voice started to show a little strain, but the crowd was going too crazy to care (Don't Speak being, arguably, the crowd favorite of the night). But Gwen's energy never gave out. She belted, whirled like a dervish, stomped and strutted, autographed a tattoo, interacted with fans, thanked them for "this life [they've] given [her]."

The last song before encore was I'm Just a Girl, the 1995 single that catapulted No Doubt into the spotlight largely due to its concurrence with the Riot Grrrl movement's absorption into mainstream consciousness. Gwen made the boys in the audience sing the chorus, then told them, lovingly, that it was "shit" and asked all the "Washington girls" to really sing it.

The result was ear-shattering. The energy in the amphitheater could have lifted the roof.

I'm happy to say I didn't have to take the bus home, catching a ride instead from a friend who proclaimed: "We'll be taking the long way. Which will in actuality be... the short way."

PS- My apologies to photographer Johanna Breiding. Due to our travel debacle, she was barred from using a professional camera; these were shot via her cameraphone. Thanks Johanna...