Destiny's Child: Child's play

It is six o'clock on a Monday evening in London's West End, and the throng of homeward-bound commuters is being hampered by an unlikely source. American R&B supergroup Destiny's Child are in town to launch their new album, Destiny Fulfilled, and so traffic grinds to a halt. They have been in London for five days now, making special appearances, parading themselves on telly and, whenever possible, visiting their favourite high-street outlet, Top Shop. Wherever they go, hordes of fans follow, a large minority of whom appear to be the kind that scream and cry and generally look ever so slightly deranged.

It is six o'clock on a Monday evening in London's West End, and the throng of homeward-bound commuters is being hampered by an unlikely source. American R&B supergroup Destiny's Child are in town to launch their new album, Destiny Fulfilled, and so traffic grinds to a halt. They have been in London for five days now, making special appearances, parading themselves on telly and, whenever possible, visiting their favourite high-street outlet, Top Shop. Wherever they go, hordes of fans follow, a large minority of whom appear to be the kind that scream and cry and generally look ever so slightly deranged.

Right now, the ladies - Beyoncé Knowles, Kelly Rowland and Michelle Williams - are doing an MTV interview in Leicester Square, and dispensing all the usual soundbites. "Yes," they tell the VJ, "they love London", and, "Yes, it's great being back together again after two years of solo projects." No, Beyoncé won't be discussing her boyfriend, the US megastar rapper Jay-Z, but she will say how much they are all looking forward to next year's world tour. The band smile, say thank you and then depart with a rarefied elegance. It's been a pleasure.

Next stop is a signing at Virgin Records in Piccadilly Circus, a gentle five-minute stroll away. But, like royalty, Destiny's Child don't walk anywhere in public, and so the journey requires a fleet of cars, a phalanx of security guards, and a police escort. Those who have arrived too late to join the queue clamber up some scaffolding on the building opposite, and scream out Beyoncé's name over the rumble of traffic. Some, oddly, are in floods of tears.

"It is strange when people cry because they meet you," Beyoncé says afterwards, "but then I understand what it is to meet your idol. When I met Nelson Mandela, I was in tears, too."

Time passes. It is now after eight, they have signed upwards of a thousand autographs, and Beyoncé is stifling a yawn. And then it happens. The frozen smile slides from the singer's face, and her expression morphs into a frown. But, queen of professionalism that she is, she quickly catches herself, remedies the situation, and dazzles once more. Later, Michelle Williams, surprisingly keen to deviate from the script, will attempt to explain their reason for such unflagging commitment.

"We could all be broke tomorrow," she says, "and that's why we could never have a bad attitude about all this."

Destiny's Child are the most successful girl group of all time. In their seven-year career, they have sold 40 million records, not just by creating some occasionally terrific music (the best in its field by a long way), but also by being incredibly motivated and very shrewd. Managed with unswerving focus by Beyoncé's father, Mathew Knowles, the band continually strive to cover as many bases as possible. As such, his daughter, the clear leader of the group, makes for a very 21st-century superstar, a multi-tasking singer, actress and face of colossal advertising campaigns (Pepsi, L'Oreal, Tommy Hilfiger and, most recently, McDonald's). As the main songwriter and executive producer, she is an empowering figure for independent women the world over, but one also happy being a scantily clad sex symbol for goggle-eyed boys. And she is one of the few artists to have appeared at both hip hop events in the US and f Republican rallies (in 2001, she played at fellow Texan George W Bush's inauguration).

"I have," she says, "a lot of commitment to reach people, to get us noticed everywhere, the world over."

She was born 23 years ago in Houston, Texas, to a salesman father, Mathew, and a hairdressing mother, Tina. Although painfully shy, she was performing at local talent shows with her cousin Kelly Rowland by the age of nine, and four years later, after enrolling local girls LeToya Luckett and LaTavia Roberson, Destiny's Child was born.

In 1997, they released their first self-titled album and had become, in the singer's opinion, "the hardest working group in history". By 1999's The Writing's On The Wall album, Luckett and Roberson had become exhausted by the work rate, and were forced out of the band, subsequently suing Knowles for favouritism and breach of contract. They settled out of court before, in 2001, mounting another legal battle, this time claiming that the lyrics to the single "Survivor" ("Now that you're out of my life I'm so much better / You thought I'd be weak without you, but I'm stronger") contravened the terms of the settlement.

Knowles didn't mourn their loss, and quickly - some suggested too quickly - replaced them with two new members, Farrah Franklin, who lasted just five months before bailing out, and Chicago-born Michelle Williams who, so far, has yet to quit. Beyoncé found herself saddled with an ugly reputation for an ambition that knew few limitations. It made her gravely depressed and so guarded that, today, she refuses to discuss anything of a private nature.

Two years ago, the band announced a hiatus in order to pursue solo projects. Williams recorded a couple of gospel albums (Heart To Yours and Do You Know) and appeared in Aida on Broadway, while Rowland released a pop-soul album called Simply Deep. But it was Beyoncé who flourished most, releasing the phenomenal single "Crazy In Love", and the album Dangerously In Love, which would go on to scoop five Grammy awards in 2003. She also branched out into film, appearing alongside Mike Myers in Austin Powers: Goldmember, Cuba Gooding Jnr in The Fighting Temptations and a remake of The Pink Panther with Steve Martin.

They had always planned to reconvene for another Destiny's Child album this summer, not just because they knew they would be missing one another's company but, says Beyoncé, because they had already paid for studio time and had set the wheels in motion for a 2005 world tour. Any delay would have cost them a lot of money. And so, despite full solo workloads, they got together in August for a frenzied bout of recording that ran to just three weeks.

"We've always worked well under pressure," Beyoncé says, "but there is no way that we will ever put ourselves through something like this again. It's just not worth all the pressure, all the stress."

I GET my audience with the band a day after the chaos at Virgin Records. Up close, they look amazing. Beyoncé really is uncommonly beautiful, her skin the colour of honey, her almond eyes as bashful as Bambi's. Kelly Rowland is preternaturally cute, her tiny face framed by lustrous curls, while Michelle Williams is all cheekbones and pout.

Perched side-by-side on a vast sofa in the penthouse suite of a London hotel, they take deep breaths, then find their smiles and affix them before looking up to face me. They look tired and bored. Delicately, I tell them this.

"Well, we are," Beyoncé says, unexpectedly confessional. "If I can be honest with you, and I hope I can, I hate doing these things, I really do. Don't take it personally, but my whole life right now feels like an endless round of promotion. I've only just finished working my solo album around the world, I've just done a new advert for Pepsi [with David Beckham and J Lo], I had to do press for The Pink Panther movie, and now here I am with a new Destiny's album, and that will keep us busy for 12 months at least."

"We're not complaining," Rowland adds, "because we love making music, we really do, but it's the selling that takes it all out of us."

Beside her, Michelle Williams is nodding in agreement. "How would you like to face the same questions and give the same answers and have your photograph taken a thousand times a day?" she says. "It's enough to drive you crazy."

Okay, so let's avoid the usual nonsense. The music speaks for itself, after all, so how about we discuss the tour? Why on earth, I ask, have they chosen to have their 2005 concerts sponsored by McDonald's? Given the impressionable youth of so many of their fans, it's a rather irresponsible choice, no?

This is where the conversation gets sticky.

"I'm confused," Williams says, stress lines corrugating her forehead. "You want to know if we've had any criticism for allowing McDonald's to sponsor us, right? No, of course not. Why? We're trying to do something positive here, so why are you getting all negative on us?"

Before I can respond, Beyoncé explains that, in the US, they will visit some hospitals under the Ronald McDonald House programme, a charity that has helped care for sick children for the past 30 years. I wonder aloud whether they considered any other children's charities, if only because McDonald's is so associated, at least in part, with America's current obesity problem. Have they not seen Super Size Me?

"No, we haven't seen that movie," says Rowland, "but the children we visit are so beautiful and it makes all the difference for us to be a small part of their lives."

At this point, the band's PR comes in and suggests we change the subject - fast.

"Look," says Williams. "We grew up going to McDonald's, it was a big treat, and we still go there today. Not necessarily for burgers, no, but we do like their salads, and we believe that as long as it's everything in modesty..." or, rather, moderation, "... then everyone's OK, right?"

Beyoncé, it seems, shall have the final word. She sits up straight, full of the poise and decorum of a wannabe Miss World. "We would like to thank McDonald's for choosing Destiny's Child to be a part of their campaign," she says. "We feel truly honoured."

Six hours later, the girls are back on the promotional trail, and make an appearance at a London nightclub for the first official playback of their album to an audience of journalists and record company employees. They arrive, as all stars must, a good hour late, and address the crowd with the usual showbiz sparkle.

They look fabulous, and sound quite genuine, so it's a surprise to hear Beyoncé say afterwards, "I hate clubs." Now hidden from her public, and happy to let the façade drop, she continues, "I hate the noise, I don't like the smell of smoke, I don't really even drink, and I'm not happy being the focus of everyone's attention." She catches herself, and laughs with embarrassment. "My, I sound like an old woman, don't I?"

"What you have to understand is that we've been doing this since we were kids," says Rowland. "And it's only natural that after a while you want to do something else."

They go on to suggest that after Destiny Fulfilled, they will take some extended time off and try to lead normal lives. Rowland would like to get into sitcoms. Williams wants to do more theatre, Beyoncé more movies. The band won't end, they say, but will only record future albums on their terms, and only when they are ready.

As I leave them, now feeling thoroughly sorry for these millionaire superstars, Williams thanks me for "choosing" to be a good person when I so easily could have been bad. I've no idea what she's talking about.

"We didn't like that whole McDonald's thing," she continues, smirking, "but I think we recovered pretty well from it, don't you?"

Rowland shakes my hand. She is smiling widely, her teeth bright white and perfect. "You have," she says, searching for the appropriate noun, "a nice ... a nice demeanour."

Something for the tombstone, then.

'Destiny Fulfilled' is out now on Columbia