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The group was thinking of breaking up at the time. They were really disorganised. It wasn't so much breaking up; shit they couldn't get ... nobody believed in them. They were like a dirty, funky group. They were like second-class citizens and even at my hotel they couldn't get in. They wanted 'em thrown out.

What did you do with them?

I went to see Sir Edward uh, what was his name? The owner of London Records, an old English cat. Didn't understand anything he said for half an hour. I wanted the Stones on an American label, my label, and he didn't. He offered me a percentage, anyhow, it involved things and money changed hands, and I never really was anything more than just close friends with them.

I knew there would eventually be problems between Andrew and them because ... I don't know. I just had a feeling. Then there was another guy involved too, another Eric somebody. He was involved. I saw them in America a few times. The first time they came, they did awful; their tours were bombing. They got hung up in hotel rooms, and nobody knew what was going on.

The funniest call of all was when Mick Jagger called. Andrew used to sleep in my office in New York, when he stayed there. We used to get these phone bills to London, all kinds of nonsense. Didn't know who was doing them or who was calling. One day we got a phone call, you know, and it was Mick Jagger. I happened to pick up the phone and he said, "What you say there? "And I said, "Who's this?" He said. "This is Mick Jagger—wha' happening?" I said "Nothing." I said. "Where are you?" He said "In Hershey, Pennsylvania. Everything is fuckin' brown here. The phones arc brown, the rooms are brown, the street is brown, every fucking thing is brown. I hate it in this fuckin' city. Hershey, Pennsylvania." He didn't know that Hershey, Pennsylvania, is where Hershey's chocolate company is located.

Did you negotiate their contract?

Well, this was an involved thing. I made a lot of bread real fast and that's about all. But I never wanted to get anything else except to see them happen, because they were really discouraged.

I mean London Records didn't know whether to believe in them or not—their record company. It was just a thing that I felt that if another group was going to nuke it after the Beatles, they would make it. They were tremendously popular in London. The girls screamed for them everywhere and yet they hadn't had a hit. I figured somethin's here, you know and they tried to get in hotels and people kept them nut, and they said they were dirty and they smelted.

What did you think of Beggar's Banquet?

Well, they're just makin' bit records now. There was a time when the Stones were really writing contributions. See that's a big word to me—"contributions."

What were the songs at the time?

Satisfaction was a contribution. They've had a few contributions. See there's a difference: other than one or two numbers, Johnny Rivers is not a contribution to music, he never will be, he never can be. I don't care if all the Johnny Rivers fans say "boo." Just like Murray Roman will never be a comedian. There's just certain people that just don't have it. Moby Grape will never be a contribution. There are a lot of groups that will never be a contribution. 'Cause if you listen to just one Muddy Water's record you've heard everything Moby Crape's gonna ever do. Or if you listen to one Jimmy Reed record you've heard everything they may want to do.

The big word is "contribution," and the Stones lately have not been—although they have been writing groovy hit things—contributing anymore. You have a time when they were contributing all of it. Everything was contribution. They'll go down as a contribution. They'll be listed as a contributing force in music. An important influence. It's not a put down on them, because nobody can keep up that pace.

What about John Lennon?

I haven't spoken to Lennon in some time so I don't know where he's at now. But I have a feeling that Yoko may not be the greatest influence on him. I mean, I don't know, but I have a feeling that he's a far greater talent than she is.

You know, a multi-millionaire in his position just doesn't get caught in an English apartment house by the cops on a dope charge unless you're just blowing your mind or somebody is just really giving you a fucking. I mean you have dogs, you have bodyguards, you got something to protect you. Everybody knows the Beatles were immune. Everybody knows that George Harrison was at the Stones' party the night they got busted, and they let Harrison leave and then they went in and nude the bust. I mean it was like the Queen said, "Leave them alone."

So Lennon must really have been causing a disturbance or somebody must have been setting him up to get busted, 'cause it ain't no medal of honour. Like its no medal of honour to get the clap. Being busted for marijuana don't mean nothin'—it's just a waste of time, if anything. It wasted his time. It may have even caused . . . miscarriages.

It's almost like a weird thing to see just how bizarre he can get before he really blows it or he just teaches everybody something.

But I think without question he is leader of that group, and he makes the decisions. I'd like to know how the Beatles feel about him and what he's going through. I almost get the feeling that they want to help him but I don't think they really can because he's always way ahead of them.

You came over with the Beatles when they first came over to the Stales. What was that like?

It was a lot of fun. It was probably the only time I flew that I wasn't afraid, because I knew that they weren't goin' to get killed in a plane. That plane was really an awful trip. I mean there were 28 or 30 minutes where that plane dropped thousands of feet over the ocean. It scared the shit out of me, but there were 149 people on board who were all Press and Beatles' right-hand men and left-hand men, and we just sat up there and talked about the Apollo and all that jive. Lennon was with his first wife, and he was very quiet. Paul asked a lot of questions. George was wonderful. It was a nice trip.

I'd just been in England for a couple of weeks and I went by their apartment, and they were leaving and said why don't you come back with us. It's really funny, but they were terribly frightened to get off the plane.

They were terribly frightened of America. They even said, "You go first." 'Cause the whole thing about Kennedy scared them very, very much. They really thought it would be possible for somebody to be there and want to kill them, because they were just very shocked. The assassination really dented them tremendously-their image of America: Just like it dented everybody's image of the Secret Service.

What do you think of Apple?

I think It was a necessity. Why should they split their money with Capitol so much?

Aren't they still doin' it?

Yeah, but they couldn't do it alone, because the distributors would kill 'em.

Would they?

Oh, sure.

Was Philes records a ...

A self-distributor. I distributed myself. You see, the Beatles would have made a mistake if they had left Capitol. They didn't have to. All their product was on Capitol. Capitol knows how to sell albums. They would have had to suddenly hire all people to do that for them. Like if Tony Bennett and Andy Williams came to A&M to negotiate a deal, in the end Jerry Moss would have had to tell 'em to stay where they arc. They'd be stupid. They can't get from A&M what they can get from Columbia Records. Mathis made the biggest mistake by leaving Columbia. The Beatles wouldn't have been smart to start a new association. They would've been fighting their old Capitol product.

You would have had Capitol releasing old shit Beatle records, and the Beatles releasing new Beatle records. It would have been flooded again, it would've been that same old thing again, only this time somebody would've gotten hurt. So they got what they wanted from Capitol. They're ending up as if they owned their own company anyway. They're saving all the bookkeeping charges, saving all the personnel charges.' Capitol's doin' all the work and givin' them a lot of bread. A lot of bread. So they're just as smart to stay in that way.

Why do you think the Beatles' first release in this country didn't nuke it?

Timing. Bad timing. What else could you attribute it to but timing? It has to be timing. It has to be. I mean, I can't think of any other reason except that we weren't ready for it. They probably weren't exposed and we weren't ready for it. I mean there were probably many more reasons why they should have made it than why they souldn't have. Now, we can look back and say, "Yeah, we were fucked up," but we could not look back then at all. I would imagine, time and maturity. Great amount of luck involved too. Elvis Presley is another guy.

Do you think he's gonna come back?

Yeah, he's got a hit now. I don't know what it Is, but it's a hit. Oh, he should man. He is never gonna die. Somebody ought to cut an album of him singin' the blues. You know there's a strong belief—and judging from what I saw and heard at NBC, I believed it—that when he goes Into a room with Colonel Parker, he's one way, and when he comes out, he's another way. You know, it's possible Colonel Parker hypnotizes him. That's the truth, too, and I can tell you six or seven people who believe it, too, who are not jive ass people. I mean, be actually changes. Hell tell you "Yes, yes, yes," and then hell go in that room and when he comes out it's "No, no, no." Now, nobody can con you like that. I wonder about that.

What has he got that has survived the worst recording career direction in history?

He's a great singer. Gosh, he's so great. You have no idea how great he is, really, you don't, You have absolutely no comprehension—it's absolutely impossible. I can't tell you why he's so great, but he is. He's sensational. He can do anything with his voice. Whether he will or not is something else. He and Dylan—he and Dylan I would like, to record. Elvis can make some masterful records and he can do anything. He can sing any way you want him to, any way you tell him. Even Dion. Look at Dion. Even Dion came back. Anybody great can come back today. That's what's so good about it.

You could say that the record industry is like controlled by people who really don't care about the music?

They don't, 'cause I can make you a millionaire tomorrow! In one day I can make you a millionaire. Just make me a record, and I'll send it out to every distributor and I'll buy every distributor. On paper you'll be a millionaire, 'cause I'll ship five million of your records. On paper you'll be a millionaire, and if that record don't sell you'll only be a very quick millionaire, but if I do it enough times, eventually I'm gonna get lucky and eventually you will be a millionaire.

That's how RCA works. You know any group that gets $100,000 from a label advance—you know that label is frightened to death. Any label that puts the Archies out is frightened. Donnie Kirshner is a friend of mine, and he wants me to say nice things about him but . . . that's shit, the Archies; that's pure, unadulterated shit. When I see and hear stuff like that I want to throw up.

Do you think there is any way of changing the record industry?

It's not that it's so bad, it's just like it's going to bore itself out. These groups are going to bore everybody to death. I mean, it's a pattern—make a Number One record, go on the Smothers Brothers' show; make a Number One record, go on the Dean Martin show; make a Number One record, go on Ed Sullivan. It's getting boring 'already.

I mean a few good songs are out, like I should name you a good song—a good song is Games People May by Joe South. It's groovy. It's a groovy song. The best song of the year probably is Heard It Through the Grapevine or Abraham, Martin and John. That's probably the best lyric and message love song, idea wise, yet Naras won't even recognize those songs. They'll give it to that guitar player Mason Williams on Warner Bros, or Paul Mauriat or one of those guys.

"I heard it through the grapevine" is the most common saying; it's a great idea for a song. For

Once In My Life is a great idea for a song; they won't even recognise this stuff. You see, I don't care about the groups, just like who can care about the Chipmunks, let 'em make it, so what? Let the Archies make it—let the Monkees make it, so they're a lot of shit, so what? Let all these groups make it—let 'cm cook, cook, cook for ever.

But the people who have to change the industry are the people who are running the big time—the NARAS organization. Like it doesn't mean anything to me, but I've never been nominated. Now you say it must mean something or you wouldn't say it. Well, it means something 'cause, like Dylan has never really been nominated. The Beatles have only been nominated recently, because they wrote Yesterday, and they just couldn't stop the power of that song. Jimmy Reed and Bo Diddley and B.B. King—none of these cats have ever been nominated.

Excuse me, I was nominated once. I was nominated for putting thunder in Walkin' ln The Rain. That's what they nominated me for. Can you imagine that? People say I set standards in the record industry. Yet Naras doesn't know I exist. They literally don't. The best rhythm and blues record of the year several years ago according to Naras was Bent Fabric and Alley Cat. I mean, can you imagine: Nancy Wilson was best R&B artist of the year! I mean, that's junk.

I'm still involved with why River Deep wasn't a hit, and what the fuck was ... and am I that hated? Am I too paranoid? You know, you can antagonize people if they think you're not human, if you say, "Aw fuck. I ain't afraid." A