I’ve never been a huge No Doubt fan, in fact I used to despise them. I was too scarred by a sub-par live performance of “Just a Girl” on MTV to understand the irony in their first hit song. My disgust with the band’s undeserved fame was cemented during a television interview with Gwen Stefani. When asked about her reaction to the death of Sublime lead singer Brad Newell, the high priestess of SoCal pop replied, “Um, it’s like, really bad that Brad is dead. We, like, miss him sooo much.” From then on, any time I heard a No Doubt song I would express my displeasure with gagging and retching sounds. It would take six years, and one dance song, for me to change my tune.

Okay, so I liked “Don’t Speak”, but I hated Gwen and the boys too much to admit that to anyone at the time. It was “Hella Good”, the infectious dance groove on their late 2001 release Rock Steady that inspired me to purchase their album. Still, I listened in the privacy of my bedroom, too shamed to play it at full volume. It wasn’t until Jerry invited me to their performance in Continental Arena that I finally understood the hype behind the band. Bedecked in colorful outfits, they bounced and strutted without a moment’s rest during their entire two-hour performance. I felt as if a spaceship had landed on the stage and out tumbled No Doubt. Such limitless energy, such flawless skin… the only explanation was that they were aliens. That, or from Southern California. After the concert I felt as if I’d spent a fun-filled day at the beach.

Last night’s performance at the Hammerstein Ballroom was no different. Still dizzy from winning a Grammy on Sunday night, No Doubt delivered a high-energy show that left a room of New York curmudgeons feeling like kids again. Gwen’s thin athletic body twisted into inhuman contortions as she delivered each note through perfect red lips. Tony Kanal plucked his bass with vigor, grinning at the screaming fans at his feet. Drummer Adrian Young’s baby, in red and white striped footy pajamas and sequined earphones, bopped on his mother’s lap in the box seats to our right, where Gwen’s parents also sat, proudly watching the electric performance on stage.

As if this were not worth the price of admission, during the encore, Mike Einziger and BrandonthehottestmanaliveBoyd from Incubus joined the band for a surprise performance of the classic Police hit, “Message in a Bottle.” They covered it perfectly, although I think I reached some sort of altered state in Brandon’s presence, bruising Jerry’s arm with firm squeezes to contain my excitement. Seconds after Brandon left the stage, he was replaced by Gavin Rossdale of Bush, and it was Jerry’s turn to drool. As the British hunk joined his wife in the final song of the evening, it occurred to me that some of the sexiest people in pop music were in the room with us. It was as if the Hammerstien Ballroom had turned into a museum of impossibly good-looking people. They performed, they flashed perfect smiles, and they thanked us for being there. I love them all so very much.

So a few parting words to those of you who, like me, are quick to judge pop music: don’t knock it till you’ve seen it live. And if you’re going to see it live, try to go around Grammy time in New York City. You never know who’s going to turn up.