The source adds, "There is this layer of intimidation that hangs around [the format]," coming particularly from smaller, black-owned rap labels. "They says things like, 'Add our product or there'll be problems.' They've intimidated us into putting records on the air."

There are also stories of life in the urban promotion world that are outrageous even by radio's fast-and-loose standards. The source recalls the time a rep from a rap label showed up at the station accompanied by bow-tied Fruit of Islam security guards. "He just parked them at the station and said we're going to talk to the G.M." Despite the fact that label reps were not usually allowed to meet with station management, the rep got in to see the G.M. "He said, 'Your boys in the music department are not getting the job done.'"

(In his book about Death Row Records, "Have Gun Will Travel," author Ronin Ro recounts the time gangsta label chief Suge Knight dragged a radio promotion executive out of a meeting and choked him in an adjacent office.)

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In order for record companies to maintain deniability, to protect themselves against any allegations of wrongdoing, an extra layer of isolation exists that is unique to urban radio promotion. It's called the "quarterback." "They're hired as a promotional or marketing company. That keeps the record companies in the clear," says one source.

The quarterback receives a lump payment from the label to promote a specific single on radio. This is a legitimate and legal transaction. The Q.B. then turns around and either contacts stations himself or more likely hires local indies around the country who take the song to radio programmers they enjoy close relationships with. ("Certain P.D.s you have to take out to dinner. Others, you take them to strip clubs," says one person who's done the schmoozing for a living.)

The indie, at this point clearly in violation of payola laws, negotiates directly with whoever controls the station's playlist ("How many CDs you need?") and arrives at an agreed-upon price for the add. The indie relays that information, quoting from a sort of FM rate card, back to the quarterback, who OKs the cash payment. The indie then pays off whoever controls the playlist. And according to one record-company promotion executive who personally has sent out the deliveries, that includes overnight envelopes filled with checks or money orders.

So the money actually goes from the label to the quarterback to the indie to the programmer. The more hands that touch the money, the harder it is to trace.

Yet precisely because so many hands touch the money -- and pocket their share -- during the transaction, the payment scheme for urban is more freewheeling. Whereas pop and rock indies actually submit detailed invoices to record labels for services rendered (i.e., specific songs added to specific playlists), sources say on the urban side things are rarely put in writing.

For instance, according to an urban source who's negotiated such deals, an indie might tell the quarterback that a station needs $1,200 for an add when the station requested only $800. The additional $400 either goes in the indie's pocket or is split with the quarterback. Or a station will ask for $800 and that's what the indie tells the quarterback. But the indie also lets him know that when the label comes back in a month and asks the station to increase its spins on the new song, the indie's going to need $300 for "spin maintenance." Most likely the station will never know about that $300 payment.

Three hundred dollars may seem like a small amount, but multiply that by the hundreds of songs added each year to the hundreds of urban stations and it adds up to millions and millions.

Pockets are clearly being lined, and some worry that radio is suffering in the process. "Somebody needs to do something, because stations are not being programmed to their fullest," says an urban industry insider. "They're just playing records that [labels] are paying them to play. It's gotten so corrupt it's ridiculous."

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