Not surprisingly, with that sort of personal incentive, it's tempting to stretch the truth. One urban P.D., whose station owner bragged about stashing away $10,000 each month in indie payments, recalls "adding" songs that the station never even played on the air. "Sometimes we add eight songs in one week. Half the songs would show up on the station, and the other half did not."

But wouldn't record companies fume if they found out a station wasn't actually spinning songs it reported as added? After all, radio airplay is supposed to help sell records for artists. Yes, but radio promotion executives at record companies, already earning healthy six-figure salaries, often receive hefty bonuses based on how high singles climb the chart, or simply based on the number of stations that add a particular single.

So if fictitious adds, or "paper adds" as they're called, help secure those bonuses, the record company exec won't object too strenuously to the station's sleight of hand. After all, everyone is happy: The label executive gets paid, the indie gets paid and the P.D. gets paid.

Who pays? The artist, for one. Most record companies recoup their costs for independent promotion from the artist's CD royalties -- which, of course, would be depleted by the lack of airplay. And, ironically enough, the stations pay as well, since money that might be used for promotions to build audience is instead diverted into programmers' personal bank accounts.

Of course some urban acts have a more hands-on relationship with radio stations. According to a year-old affidavit reviewed by Salon, an executive at an urban outlet in New Orleans, WQUE, recently testified under oath that rapper Master P wrote the station a check for $23,000 to help it cover costs for a poorly attended concert it had sponsored. (The affidavit stemmed from a non-payola-related wrongful-dismissal suit.)

Within days, the station was spinning Master P's rap songs throughout the day, from morning to afternoon drive. That despite the fact that the station's policy was not to play any hardcore rap until after 6 p.m. (Many urban stations maintain a similar no-rap policy during the day in an effort to attract older-skewing advertisers.)

The show was not affiliated with Master P or his No Limit Records, and Master P wouldn't comment about the check. An internal investigation by the station owner, Clear Channel Communications, looked into possible payola activity at the New Orleans station. It found none, although some employees there complained to Salon that the inquiry was halfhearted at best. (The company declined to discuss the matter.)

For instance, the affidavit recounted how a record rep from a small independent label visited the station, hoping to get some airplay for a new novelty single. The station's music director told him the song might get played during the morning show, but not in regular rotation.

The record rep actually seemed relieved, exclaiming, "Rotation? I don't have 5,000 fucking dollars to get this in rotation." The implication is that the label rep knew exactly how much it cost to get a song added at the station.

Earlier this month, WQUE program director Gerod Stevens was fired and escorted out of the station. General manager Ed Turner, who took over WQUE in April, says the move had nothing to do with the Clear Channel investigation. He did add, though, that he wanted a programmer who had "a little more compassion for our friends in the record industry."

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The current system is able to flourish partly because the major labels, reluctant to make waves inside the profitable format, have adopted a hear-no-evil, see-no-evil mentality, turning a collective blind eye to the corrupt transactions.

Even if the labels did want to alter it, the current system may simply be too firmly entrenched. That's something McClusky and Tri State recently found out after trying, unsuccessfully, to crack the lucrative urban market. According to radio sources, both mainstream indie firms approached the country's two most influential urban radio chains: Radio One, which owns 63 stations in 22 markets, and Blue Chip Broadcasting, which owns 19 stations in six Midwestern markets.

The indies proposed forming exclusive relationships with their stations, which meant promotion money would go to stations and not to individuals. The companies, sources say, declined, preferring to stay with the old system. (Executives for Radio One and Blue Chip Broadcasting did not return calls for comment.)

"It seems to be working, and if the money is flowing pretty well, why mess with it?" asks one source, noting that "Bill Scull [at Tri State] and McClusky can't break in; they aren't socializing with black P.D.s." Both Scull and McClusky are white; most urban indies, label vice presidents and programmers are black. "Black radio is different, it's like a brotherhood, a clique," says the source.

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