Free Will.i.am by Danny White Page B

all-time heroes was present. ‘Shit,’ Will exclaimed to his bandmates, ‘it’s James Brown!’
    In an era in which the stature of ‘legend’ is awarded far too easily, Brown remains richly deserving of it. His influence on the musical scene, particularly black music, is immense.
His charisma is also huge and his entourageon the night was far from insubstantial. Therefore, most people were far too nervous and in awe to even consider approaching Brown
for a chat.
    Will, though, is not like most people. He took a deep breath, marched over to Brown’s table and introduced himself to the man he admires so much. He told the godfather of soul just how
much he admires his music. Then he took the conversation to another level. ‘One day,’ Will told Brown, ‘we would love to work with you’. It was an enormously audacious
pitch. A successful one, too. ‘All rigggght,’ Brown told Will. ‘We’ll make it happen.’
    He was good to his word, too. Just seventy-two hours later, Brown joined The Black Eyed Peas in their studio in Chiswick, west London. The band were only given an hour’s notice of the
arrival of Brown and his ten-strong entourage. Brown appeared, wearing a violet suit – described as ‘sharp-ass’ by Taboo – with a maroon shirt. With seven fellow musicians
and three assistants in tow, he was every inch the superstar: in Taboo’s telling, Brown was ‘glowing’ and ‘oozing charisma’. He made the band feel like children in
comparison. Brown’s first words were to remind The Black Eyed Peas that he did not normally take part in collaborations. Why? ‘I’m James Brown’. However, he said that
‘something told me I needed to work with The Black Eyed Peas, and that’s why I’m here. So let’s work!’
    Meanwhile, one of Brown’s assistants gave the band a sharp reminder of Brown’s stature, after Will had made a faux pas. ‘Yo, what up, James, how you
doing?’ Will had asked as Brown arrived. Brown’s assistant told Will in no uncertain terms that under the expected ‘system’ of behaviour, everyone was expected to refer to
Brown only as ‘Mr Brown’. He added that the surname form should be used universally during the session, so Will should only be referred to by other people as ‘Mr I Am’,
while Fergie would become, for the duration of the session, ‘Miss Ferg’. With that typically show-business system made clear, the artists went to work.
    Will had created the foundations of the song he wanted Brown to work on with them. It was called ‘They Don’t Want Music’, and he was nervous as he played the track as it stood
to Brown, anxious for his approval. However, Brown did approve of the song and immediately took charge of the process. He told the assembled musicians of both camps that he would tell them what to
do and it would be he, and only he, who would ‘give you direction’.
    The following hours proved an astonishing experience for Will, as he sat next to Brown at the mixing desk and watched his hero bark out orders. Will found it all both dizzyingly fun in its own
right and enormously instructive. Brown told the musicians how to ‘feel the funk’ and maketheir performance perfect. Often, his orders to his own band of
instrumentalists and vocalists were delivered via nothing more than a particular grunt sound, which Brown would emit and which they seemed to understand. Will watched it all with wonder.
    When the ensemble moved upstairs for lunch, Will got to see Brown’s diva behaviour in its full horrendous glory. Flunkies brushed his hair for him and even cut his food for him. All in
all, Brown’s visit to their studio had been one of the most astonishing experiences of Will’s life in itself – and from it came a track for their new album.
    Another special guest on the album was Sting, the former lead singer of the Police. The collaboration came about due to a separate project Will had been working on with Sting. With the band
already