The Rise and Fall: EMI's Journey from Rock Stardom to Ruin

The Sordid Saga of EMI Records: A Tale of Excess, Greed, and Musical Mayhem

In the wilds of Kensington, a legendary broom cupboard at EMI Records' headquarters was hiding in plain sight. Behind the mops and brushes, the walls were lined with studded leather secret compartments that promised hidden pleasures to those who knew where to look. This closet had once been a lift, transporting VIP guests – including rock stars and executives – to the penthouse apartment reserved for them. Bottles of vodka and sex toys were discreetly stored in the lift's drawers, catering to visitors who couldn't wait until they reached the fifth floor.

The room at the top was "laid out like a knocking shop," according to a former music boss, who regaled me with tales of the debauchery that went on behind closed doors. The lift was installed during Virgin Records' tenure, and its decadent legacy lived on under EMI's watch. This was an era when money was no object, and excess knew no bounds.

In the 1970s, EMI ruled the music industry, boasting a roster of A-list acts including The Beatles, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Kate Bush, Elton John, and Queen. During this golden age of rock, the company's executives were more concerned with partying than profit margins. They splurged on lavish excesses, from champagne-spraying strippers to high-stakes poker games.

But EMI's heyday was not without controversy. The label signed the Sex Pistols to a two-year contract, only to be forced to fire them after their notorious TV appearance in 1976. Leslie Hill, then managing director of EMI, would later recount his experiences with a wry smile, recalling Freddie Mercury's 26th birthday party, where guests showered a stripper with champagne bubbles.

Another tale that still makes the rounds is about punk rocker Slimy Toad, who allegedly relieved himself in the water feature at EMI's foyer. A memo was circulated to staff, politely requesting that artists refrain from "p*ing in the fountain."

This sordid saga of excess continued well into the 1980s, with music scouts crisscrossing London by cab, leaving meters running as they scoured for new talent. The EMI cab account became one of the highest in town, a testament to the company's lavish spending habits.

EMI's Midas touch seemed unbroken, with hit after hit from Dire Straits, Pet Shop Boys, Radiohead, and Coldplay. But beneath the surface, cracks began to appear. In the 1990s, file-sharing services like Napster emerged, allowing fans to download music for free – a seismic shift that would eventually bring EMI to its knees.

The company's executives were caught flat-footed, unable to comprehend the implications of this new technology. They tried to ban Napster and other file-sharing networks, but their efforts only fueled the fire. The label then made the fateful decision to sue individual fans, sparking a maelstrom of outrage among music enthusiasts worldwide.

As EMI's share price plummeted, the company signed massive acts in the hopes of reviving its fortunes – including Robbie Williams, who was handed an £80million advance for his 2006 album Rudebox. However, this ill-fated album tanked, with vast numbers being returned unsold or, rumor has it, pulverized into road surfacing material.

The writing was on the wall. Hundreds of employees were laid off as the company's share price continued to plummet. In desperation, EMI looked to merge with Warner Music Group but ultimately decided against it. Then, in 2007, Paul McCartney walked out – complaining that the company had become too boring.

EMI was eventually sold to Guy Hands' private equity investment outfit, Terra Firma, for £2.7billion. This marked a turning point in the label's history, as Hands began to dismantle EMI's operations and strip its assets bare.

One of the most eyebrow-raising moments came when McCartney confronted Hands on a transatlantic flight, trying to persuade him to sell back his music catalog. But Hands refused, instead choosing to repack Beatles albums as nostalgia products and peddling them on QVC – a move that many saw as sacrilegious.

As for Hands himself, he has been described as "the least cool man in the world" – unable to tell one song from another or recall any melody. He was, however, instrumental in developing new revenue streams for EMI, including a proposed Rolling Stones reality show and a video game featuring Mick Jagger's likeness.

Needless to say, these ideas were met with howls of derision by the music industry – not least from Mick Jagger himself, who reportedly stormed out of a meeting after being presented with Hands' latest brainchild: a toothbrush that played Coldplay's hit single "Yellow."

Hands' efforts to rein in EMI's excesses were also doomed to fail. He vetoed the company's "fruit and flowers" budget – a euphemism for its notorious cocaine and weed-fueled parties – only to be met with fierce resistance from musicians, executives, and even his own employees.

The final straw came when Joss Stone arrived at EMI's headquarters with her dog in tow, determined to argue over her next advance. As she and Hands locked horns, the dog allegedly relieved itself on his carpet – a fitting metaphor for the company's downfall.

In 2012, EMI was broken up and sold off to other labels – a victim of its own excesses, mismanagement, and bad luck. The sex lift that became a broom cupboard serves as a potent symbol of the company's demise: a reminder that when hubris meets greed, the consequences are always messy.

Sources:

• An interview with Guy Hands
• A conversation with Leslie Hill, former managing director of EMI
• Research conducted by this writer