Narrator: In 1980, the rock band Pink Floyd released "Another Brick in the Wall," a song that would become a global anthem. In city after city, it shot to the top of the charts, dominating the airwaves. But in Los Angeles, a major media market where the band had five sold-out shows, a strange silence fell. The city's most powerful Top 40 radio stations refused to play the song. It wasn't a question of taste or popularity; it was a coordinated blackout. The reason for this silence reveals a hidden power structure that controlled the American music scene, a world of backroom deals, extortion, and mob-like influence. This shadowy world is the subject of Fredric Dannen's explosive exposé, Hit Men: Power Brokers and Fast Money Inside the Music Business, which uncovers the corrupt system that decided which songs became hits and which were condemned to silence.

Narrator: In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the music industry was not governed by public taste alone. It was ruled by a powerful cabal of independent record promoters known as "The Network." These men held sway over radio station playlists, ensuring that a record label’s song received airplay, for a price. This system was essentially institutionalized payola, a form of bribery that had become so entrenched it was seen as the cost of doing business.

The true power of the Network is best illustrated by the experience of Dick Asher, the deputy president of CBS Records. In 1980, concerned by the millions of dollars CBS was spending on these promoters, Asher decided to conduct an experiment. He would use Pink Floyd’s guaranteed hit, "Another Brick in the Wall," to prove that a great song could succeed without paying the indies. He chose Los Angeles as his testing ground and banned his staff from hiring independent promoters for the song in that market.

The result was a chilling demonstration of the Network's influence. While the song soared to number one across the country, L.A.'s major stations refused to play it. The silence was deafening. Pink Floyd's manager, Steve O'Rourke, was baffled, questioning why the biggest song from a band with a string of sold-out L.A. concerts was being ignored. The message was clear: the Network didn't just have the power to make a hit; it had the power to prevent one. After weeks of the blackout, Asher was forced to surrender. He lifted the ban, hired the local indie promoters, and almost overnight, "Another Brick in the Wall" flooded the Los Angeles airwaves. The experiment proved that the Network wasn't just a service; it was a protection racket. As one executive put it, "You got the feeling you had to hire them so bad things wouldn’t happen."

Narrator: The modern record industry was built on a foundation of starkly contrasting personalities, embodying its dual nature of raw commerce and high culture. On one side was Morris Levy, the president of Roulette Records and the unofficial "Godfather" of the music business. Levy was a ruthless operator with deep, acknowledged ties to organized crime. He built his empire through intimidation, copyright theft, and a cynical view of humanity, famously stating, "If a guy’s a cocksucker in his life, when he dies he don’t become a saint." Levy represented the street-level, often violent, underbelly of the industry, where success was achieved by any means necessary.

On the other side was Goddard Lieberson, the urbane and sophisticated president of CBS Records. Where Levy was a product of the streets, Lieberson was a man of culture who mingled with high society. He was known for his impeccable taste and wit, and he guided CBS through its "Tiffany Network" era. While Levy was strong-arming songwriters, Lieberson was producing the original cast album of My Fair Lady, which sold five million copies in 1957 and earned CBS a staggering $32 million on a $500,000 investment. These two figures, the mob-connected thug and the cultured gentleman, represent the moral schizophrenia at the heart of the music business, an industry where artistic aspiration and criminal enterprise often existed side-by-side.

Narrator: By the late 1970s, the music industry had shifted from developing new artists to acquiring established superstars. This change was driven by the intense rivalry between the two industry titans: CBS Records, led by the volatile Walter Yetnikoff, and Warner Bros. Records, led by the respected Mo Ostin. This rivalry, which Yetnikoff dubbed "Walter's War," escalated into a series of high-stakes bidding wars that inflated artist contracts to unprecedented levels.

The war began in earnest when Yetnikoff, feeling slighted by Ostin, decided to retaliate by poaching one of Warner's biggest stars. He set his sights on James Taylor and, in 1976, lured him to CBS with a massive contract. This was a direct assault on Warner, and Mo Ostin did not take it lightly. He waited for his moment to strike back. That moment came when Paul Simon's contract with CBS was up for renewal. Simon had a strained relationship with Yetnikoff, and Ostin capitalized on the friction, snatching the legendary songwriter for Warner Bros.

Yetnikoff was enraged. He allegedly vowed to sabotage Simon's career and banned Simon's lawyer from the CBS building. This tit-for-tat poaching set off an arms race. The labels began throwing astronomical sums of money at superstars like Paul McCartney and the Rolling Stones, often with disastrous financial results. The focus was no longer on nurturing talent but on making deals, transforming the industry from one run by "music men" to one dominated by "hit men" who saw artists as assets to be acquired.

Narrator: The internal power struggle at CBS Records between Walter Yetnikoff and his deputy, Dick Asher, encapsulates the central conflict of the era. Yetnikoff was the "King," a brilliant but deeply insecure and erratic leader who thrived on chaos and intimidation. He was known for his profane outbursts and his ability to manipulate those around him. Asher, by contrast, was a loyal and principled executive who believed in fiscal responsibility and ethical conduct. He was the man tasked with cleaning up the mess.

Asher's attempts to rein in the exorbitant spending on independent promotion put him on a direct collision course with Yetnikoff, who benefited from the corrupt system. While Asher was trying to save the company money, Yetnikoff was using the Network to maintain his power and crush competitors. The tension between them grew as Asher's cost-cutting measures proved successful, making CBS incredibly profitable, particularly with the monumental success of Michael Jackson's Thriller.

However, in the world of Hit Men, success and integrity were liabilities. In 1983, Yetnikoff summoned Asher to his office and fired him. The reason given was that the new CBS CEO, Tom Wyman, had "problems" with Asher. But the truth was that Asher's crusade against the Network had made him a political target. His firing was a clear message to anyone else who dared to challenge the status quo. It was, as one executive described it, a "political execution," proving that in Yetnikoff's kingdom, loyalty was a one-way street and doing the right thing could cost you your career.

Narrator: By the mid-1980s, the cost of the independent promotion Network had become unsustainable, and the industry was desperate for a way out. The labels were trapped; they couldn't stop paying the indies without risking a radio blackout, but they couldn't afford to continue. An internal investigation by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) was proposed but ultimately failed due to infighting and fear.

The system finally came crashing down not from within, but from the outside. In February 1986, NBC News aired an explosive investigative report titled "The New Payola." Using hidden cameras and law enforcement sources, reporter Brian Ross exposed the inner workings of the Network, linking top promoters like Joe Isgro and Fred DiSipio to organized crime figures. The report was a public relations nightmare for the record industry.

The fallout was immediate and decisive. Faced with public outrage and the threat of a federal investigation, the major record labels, one by one, announced they were severing all ties with independent promoters. The very system they had created and sustained for years was dismantled in a matter of days. The NBC report had done what the industry itself could not: it had killed the "bastard child" it had created, ending the era of institutionalized payola and forever changing the way music business was conducted.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Hit Men is that for decades, the songs that formed the soundtrack of American life were not chosen by popular demand alone. They were the result of a ruthless, systematic, and often corrupt process of manufactured consent, controlled by a handful of powerful men who operated in the shadows. The "hits" were not just songs; they were commodities pushed through a pipeline greased with money, intimidation, and illegal payoffs.

Fredric Dannen's investigation pulled back the curtain on this world, revealing that the glamour of the music industry was built on a dark and morally compromised foundation. It leaves us with a challenging question that resonates even today: While the specific payola schemes of the Network may be gone, have the underlying forces of money and power simply evolved? In an age of streaming algorithms and social media influencers, we must continue to ask who, or what, is truly choosing the hits we hear.