Cocaine made Marvin's eyes fill with fear .. he thought the devil was after him; EXCLUSIVE DAY 2: MY DRUG BINGES WITH A MUSICAL ICON.

Byline: Walter Yetnikoff 

FROM the mid-1970s until the early 90s, Walter Yetnikoff was the most powerful man in the music business. As head of CBS Records, he worked with stars such as Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, Barbra Streisand and Bob Dylan. In part two of our exclusive series, he tells of the drug-fuelled excess at the heart of the industry.

I BECAME a madman after being appointed president of CBS Records in 1975. It made me giddy. It went to my head and went to my libido.

The more money I made for the company, the crazier I could afford to be.

I was drinking fountains of champagne and snorting fishbowls of cocaine.

I was whacked out of my mind... and so was everyone else.

I spent hours getting loaded with Marvin Gaye. I was proud of getting him to sign with us after 20 years with Motown. The first single from his new album was Sexual Healing, a smash.

During the promotional tour, he invited me backstage.

"In here, Walter," a voice called from the bathroom. I opened the door. Marvin was on the toilet. I saw he had a cocaine spoon up his nose.

"I can't trust anyone, Walter," he said. "They're trying to hurt me. They want to eliminate me."

As he spoke, he kept snorting the coke. His eyes were filled with fear. His paranoia was raging.

"We can't talk here," he said. "The room is wired."

He was badly troubled. Another time, he rang me saying the devil was pursuing him. He was incoherent and babbled for half an hour. He said he hadn't left the house in weeks.

"Get help, Marvin," I urged. "Get out of the house."

"It's too dangerous," he said. "They're waiting for me out there."

I made a few calls to see if anyone could get through to him. No one could. Soon afterwards, his father shot him dead. That night I tried to ignore what had happened, by doing what I did most nights. I got high.

Marvin was always a handful but it was Mick Jagger who really liked to f*** with me. Signing the Stones kept me running to meetings for a year.

During our final negotiations at the Ritz in Paris, I flew off the handle.

THE complex contract was already drafted. It required a dozen lawyers and a Dutch Antilles holding company. All we needed were signatures. But Mick, the ex-LSE graduate, wasn't happy.

"Whatever Mick says is right," said Keith Richards, glaring through his heavy eye make-up.

"Go get another blood transfusion, Richards," I said. "Maybe it'll get your brain working again."

Mick called me a "mutha******' record executive". I called on the gods of restraint to stop me shoving my fist in his face. The gods came through and the deal finally got done.

I also got into rows with Barbra Streisand. We were always screaming at each other, then making up. We shared deep Brooklyn Jewish roots that helped us understand one another.

Barbra was obsessed with sales. Her duet with Donna Summer - No More Tears (Enough Is Enough) - went to No.1.

But how could we keep her hot? The answer was to pair her with Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees. The song, Guilty, was cut in a haze of herb and we had a hit. Robert Stigwood, the force behind Saturday Night Fever and manager of the Bee Gees' RSO label, hit us with a lawsuit for failing to consult. I called to apologise.

"Apology accepted," Robert replied. "As a more formal reconciliation, be my guest at my estate in Bermuda."

Robert arranged for a private plane. His estate was the size of a small country. He had us hike up the side of a mountain. When we reached the summit, there was an antique table covered in white linen and a waiter with champagne, strawberries and cream.

Next to the table was a musician seated at a white piano, playing Anything Goes. For once I was speechless. Yet most of the time, I was intent on making noise.

When I was first appointed, I needed an identity. I decided on starting a war with Warner Brothers. After all, war is exhilarating. The first thing I did was to hire James Taylor from Warner. His first CBS album was a huge success.

Warner's revenge was to recruit Paul Simon from us. But Paul owed us one last record. We screamed at each other for months until he came to my office.

"I've had a brainstorm," Paul said, sarcastically. "I've decided to put a series of Elizabethan sonnets to music. That'll be my new album."

"It'll sell five copies," I said.

"I'm fascinated by the Elizabethan era," he said. I hit back: "You'll give me a regular album of Paul Simon songs."

"And you'll bury it," he said.

"For a little squirt, you've got a big mouth."

He wanted the final word: "If you want an album of Paul Simon songs, you write them."

We finally received a pounds 1million settlement and Paul's next move was to star in Warner's film One Trick Pony, in which a misunderstood artist battles a heartless music label. It featured an evil character modelled on me - Walter Fox. In the movie Paul gets to screw Walter's wife. That was Paul's revenge. Mine was the box office. Both the movie and the soundtrack flopped.

As part of my duties, I used to go over to England for our annual convention.

One time, Diana, a music exec friend, was waiting with open arms. We slept late... until the company called from the Intercontinental. Where was I? Everyone was waiting. I threw on my clothes and raced over.

Hurrying into the hotel, I was stopped by a journalist, who insisted I listen to something by this "fabulous singer-songwriter".

I turned around and standing on the street, his guitar hooked up to a little amp, was a gawky guy with glasses. "I don't have time," I said. The journalist motioned to the guy to start playing. "I'll tell my A&R man to sign him," I said, not really listening. As a result of that seasoned adjudication, Elvis Costello came to one of our labels.

It wasn't always that easy, though. I spent six months chasing Paul McCartney with a deal but it was worth it.

When he eventually arrived at my office to sign the contract, he was with Linda - and they were both charming.

"I've come to meet the birds," said Paul, before going around the office and signing autographs for the female employees.

"You see the ego I have to put up with?" said Linda.

Throughout this time, I was the same old Walter. I moved my family to Manhattan, hoping I'd spend more time with my wife June and my sons.

In fact, nothing changed except the intensity with which I sought adulterous encounters. The lure of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll overwhelmed my sense of responsibility. I just wanted to get high and stay high.

I took up with a girl known as Boom Boom. The sexual side of our relationship was based on a menage a trois - Boom Boom, me and cocaine. How does an egomaniac become more maniacal? Give him coke.

But there was the odd time when I had to be on my best behaviour. After Bob Dylan's performance at Madison Square Gardens, I hosted a private dinner for him at a swanky restaurant.

HE finally arrived just after 2am... along with uncles, cousins, his mother, his girlfriend Carol Childs and an oversized mastiff.

Sitting next to Bob and his mother, I was astonished by their dialogue - the poet-icon suddenly became little Bobby Zimmerman.

"You're not eating, Bobby," said Mom, as Carol cut up his food.

"Please, Ma. You're embarrassing me."

"You also ate nothing for lunch. You're skin and bones. And have you thanked Mr Yetnikoff for this lovely dinner?"

"Thank you, Walter."

"You're mumbling, Bobby. I don't think Mr Yetnikoff heard you."

"He heard me," Dylan said sarcastically.

"Bobby, be nice."

"Does your son always give you this much trouble?" I asked.

"Bobby? He's a good boy. He calls, he writes. Every mother should have such a son."

They were some of the big names I dealt with. My biggest corporate act was engineering the sale of CBS to Sony in 1988. I flew into Tokyo to see the new owners.

"Tonight is the party of all parties," I told myself, cracking open the champagne back at my hotel. The eroticism of Asia swept over me. I grabbed my jacket and found the door locked. I heard a voice.

"No one can leave." It was a security guard.

Sony knew I could destroy its image in one night on the town. I went to the window to see if there was a fire escape. There wasn't. A patchwork of neon lay below.

That's when I pushed open the window and howled at the moon.

Extracted by ROS WYNNE-JONES

Walter Yetnikoff, extracted from Howling At The Moon, published by Abacus (TimeWarner Books), pounds 12.99. To buy a copy for pounds 11.99 (p&p free), call Mirror Direct on 0870 0703 200 or send a cheque/postal order payable to Mirror Direct to Mirror Direct, FREEPOST, PO Box 60, Helston, Cornwall, TR13 0TP.

CAPTION(S):

OBSESSED: Feisty Barbra Streisand craved massive sales; INSULTS: With Mick Jagger and Keith Richards; LOADED: Walter Yetnikoff with his pal Marvin; TROUBLED: Drugs fuelled Marvin Gaye's paranoia