It's not just funny. It's also...money. Rossdale's sexiness and his love of all things sexy have definitely played no small part in propelling Bush to massive success. Much has been made of Rossdale's good looks, and, well, that's actually a no-brainer. When he enters the room, the center of gravity naturally shifts in his direction. Not to gush, but...he's simply dazzling - with his wicked smile, architectural cheekbones, and kiss-me lips, he's just short of being too pretty. He has a deep tan (he just vacationed in Anguilla, he explains) and an outfit to match: loose sleeveless black T-shirt, a couple of silver rings, camouflage cargo pants, and All-Star Converse slides. All in all, he looks like a native California surfer dude, and somehow it's initially jarring when an English accent comes out of his mouth. Listening to Rossdale talk is beguiling - he looks directly into your eyes and his speech is slow, quiet, and deliberate, his Brit-speak softened by the warmth of his words. In short, there are about five million things that could be worse than sitting in a hotel bungalow enjoying a private conversation with this man.

The four members of Bush - Rossdale, drummer Robin Goodridge, bassist Dave Parsons, and guitarist Nigel Pulsford - are camped out here at the Chateau Marmont, preparing for the release of their new album, The Science of Things. It's just another perfect, blue-skied day in Los Angeles, and everything's so sparkly and shiny I feel like I've stumbled into a movie. The vibe at the Chateau only reinforces that feeling, as just downstairs, models, rockers, and Tinseltown types casually lay about the hotel's secluded pool, sipping drinks, chatting, and puffing cigarettes - trying to appear nonchalant as they swivel their heads toward any newcomers who enter the area to see if he or she is a "somebody". Bush most definitely make the cut, as they're here filming the video for their latest single, "The Chemicals Between Us," overseeing the final mix of their new album, as well as enduring the obligatory photo shoots and interviews.

When I question Rossdale further about his ever-growing sex symbol status, he starts making "ping!" sounds with his mouth, and looks away. I can see the thought cloud over his head: "Bo-ring." He speaks carefully. "Oh, um...I think it's..." he starts, breathing out a sigh, "...what happens to bands that sell lots of records is that the singers get the attention. It's been a couple of years now of it and it's flattering, but I don't pay that much attention to... In some cases it was used as a weapon against us, not as a description or compliment."

Rossdale is genuinely polite and gracious, really quite sweet, but he dreads answering the personal questions. When I ask about his girlfriend, the chair he's sitting in suddenly becomes infinitely fascinating. "These wicker things are really uncomfortable, aren't they?" he murmurs. He's like a fidgety little kid trying to get out of eating his vegetables so he can go out and play. "It's just like no one bothered to sit in them before they actually bought them. Everything has to be comfort, I mean, what's the point if you're not comfortable?"

Well, is he still comfortably dating Gwen Stefani of No Doubt? "Umm...yes ma'am," is the brief response. He met Stefani three or four years ago when their bands toured together, but beyond that he won't elaborate (other than to give her props by saying, "She's writing a monster of an album"). When Rossdale talks about the relationships in his life, not just his lovers, it's with gravity, and he seems to thrive on the long-term ones -- he dated his girlfriend before Stefani for five years. Is he a serial monogamist? "No," he replies, "I'm a serious monogamist." Oh...

Well, whatever. Sometimes you don't really need to know the stories "behind the music" and you don't really even need songs you have to intellectualize over -- it's just about a pure shot of rock, straight up. Bush's debut album, Sixteen Stone, was just that, and an instant success as well, though rock critics made much of what they felt was Bush's lack of credibility -- as if Rossdale's MTV-friendly looks make the band's music less "meaningful." Naysayers can blather on about how derivative or inauthentic they feel Bush's music is, but the fact of the matter is that Bush's best songs deliver a perfect capsule pill of rock music, an ephemeral rush of transcendent adrenaline. If you ask me, driving down the highway couldn't be finer when you have "Comedown" throbbing away on the radio. The fact that Rossdale himself embodies the libidinal qualities of the band's music simply rounds out the equation. Their new album, The Science of Things, taps deeper into the vein of that which Bush has come to be known for -- layered textures and floating guitars framing Rossdale's yearning voice and cryptic lyrics, with a well-honed studio sheen. They've added computer generated sounds and futuristic imagery to some of the songs this time around, but the rocking energy of their past is here as well.

Before Bush got going, Rossdale toiled in a few bands around London that pretty much went nowhere. "My second band was kind of not happening," he says. "I wasn't content with it. I didn't like the direction of the person I was working with, though I really liked the guy. I wanted Jane's Addiction, he liked Extreme. He'd play 'More Than Words' and thought it was really great -- a well written and well crafted song. I'm like, 'Fuck, I've got to get out of here,' so then I had no one and I felt very alone and I felt very lost.

"The music wasn't fucking good enough," he continues. "That's why I hate being dependent on other people -- it drives me crazy. I much prefer to have my life in my own hands, so it's kind of an effort to relinquish some responsibility in the studio now. At the time, I was getting out of my sort of slump and looking for people to work with. I thought, 'Fuck it,' you know, 'I'll write my own songs.' The first song I wrote on my own was 'Comedown.'"

Bush came together in 1992, meeting each other through mutual friends in the UK music scene, after Rossdale returned from a six-month stint in California. Their debut, Sixteen Stone, was largely ignored in Britain, yet it became an instant success in the United States. The members of the band are philosophical about the attention given to Rossdale -- after all, it hasn't exactly hurt them. "That's just the nature of lead singers," says good-natured drummer Robin Goodridge. "They're usually the focus of attention. Gavin's kind of there at the helm when we're recording too -- he's written the songs and they're basically his emotions more than anyone else's. We're all breathing our emotions into the song, but the spine of it is his vision."

"When you join a band," explains Dave Parsons, Bush's rather mellow bassist, "it's important to have faith in the people you're working with, so you don't get that feeling that it's going to go nowhere. Nigel's a great guitar player, and Gavin had something about him, definitely. I don't know whether you would call it sex appeal or charisma, but he certainly had something," Parsons laughs. "So I guess I did think Gavin was sexy. It's important to have something like that in a lead singer because you're really face-on with the audience."

Guitarist Nigel Pulsford seems to be the "serious" one of the group. Practical and opinionated, he works most intensely with Rossdale on the overall sound of the music. (He also has a debut solo album, Heavenly Toast on the Paradise Road, available from the Internet-only label Collecting Dust.) "I couldn't care less about Gavin's sex symbol status. It's great and fine and good and he seems to thrive on it, so I think it's absolutely fine," he says. "It hasn't done us any harm. It may be a bit facile if someone buys the album because of him, but people are listening to the music."

Rossdale does thrive in the spotlight, and being on the road is right up his alley. "I like the way that touring appeals to my mountain side -- it's like a Calvinist trial," the singer admits. "You're going into a packed wilderness, you're just out there in the elements of travel, fatigue, and playing -- giving everything you have every night. It can eat you, but if you can control it like a beast there's a generative quality to it. It's such an arduous test -- it appeals to a twisted, masochistic side of me. It's like staggering through snow. I wanted to live like that, that extreme living. Proper tours are like that -- five nights a week for five months straight. It's pretty hardcore."

"Hardcore" might describe what it was like to try out their new songs in front of this past summer's rougher-than-ever Woodstock crowd. "We played after Korn -- who are an excellent band," says Rossdale, who naturally seems to come equipped with a compliment for everybody he mentions. "The fact that they're hardcore didn't bother me. When you play a festival, the fucking battle is with yourself and playing to the crowd, who go to Woodstock to be immediately entertained by every single band. I just came out on the stage and just went for it, and I couldn't get enough of it."

Rossdale really can't get enough of it. He obviously needs his fans as much as they need him. "Either they like you or they don't -- and they do let you know," he says with studied nonchalance, when asked about the response he expects to get from the new album. "I think it has power and wings of its own. It's like taking the biggest exam you ever imagined -- it's the biggest test you could ever think of."