by Pete Bennett

 

When the Stones sent me the tape of “Honky Tonk Women” I knew I had a problem. It wasn't the first time. There were other times when the Stones sent me songs four or five minutes long for radio stations. I had to call the Stones and tell them to cut it down. Usually they didn't give a damn, that is until I reminded them that if they didn't edit the songs radio stations wouldn't play them. Then they would give a damn. It happened with “Let's Spend The Night Together,” “Lady Jane” and “Paint It Black.”

In 1969 radio stations were very cautious about the lyrics. There were complaints about sex and drug references. People would call radio stations to complain so stations didn't want to play these kinds of records. And there were problems with the lyrics of “Honky Tonk Women.” I called Mick Jagger about this at his home in London.

“Listen, Mick,” I said, “there's a problem with the lyrics, especially with the line ‘I laid a divorcee in New York City.’ The public is not going to buy it. It's too controversial.”

“The hell with that. They'll buy it. You just get it out and I'll talk to London Records.”

“I don't care who you talk to.”

But I had to get it out. Afterwards, Mick said, “See, there was no problem.” And I said, “What do you mean there was no problem? Do you know what I had to go through to get that record on the air?”

Unless I was out of town I would visit WMCA and the other top radio stations in New York every week. When I had the acetate of “Honky Tonk Women” I called WMCA and said that I was coming with the new Rolling Stones single. On the way to the WMCA offices I was worried. If it came out that WMCA, the number one station in New York, banned the song, then nobody would touch it, exclusive or not. It only takes one station to ban a record and if it's a top station in New York, Chicago or another major market, then the other radio stations wouldn't touch it. But if WMCA played it then every body else would figure that the FCC had OK'd it.

At WMCA they had an office where they would preview the records. Past the record library it had two desks, a few chairs and a record player. The walls were lined with gold records. Sitting around were Ruth Meyers, the program director; Joel Bogart, the music director; and Gary Stevens, now the president of Doubleday Broadcasting, who was a disc jockey at the time. I didn't tell them there might be a problem with the record. Let them pick that up themselves.

They put the record on and when the problem lyric came on in the second verse they all looked at each other. The program director looked at the disk jockey who looked at the music director who looked up at the ceiling. I knew I and the record were in trouble. I wondered what to do. Joel Bogart disliked the record the most.

“We can't possibly play this record.”

“Why?”

“Pete, don't you understand, the lyric is bad on it.”

“What lyric?”

“It said ‘I laid a divorcee in New York City.’”

“No it doesn't,” I had to think right there and then. I bluffed. “It says, ‘I played a divorcee.’”

“I don't know what kind of ears you have, Pete, but we all heard ‘laid a divorcee.’ But let's play it again. And let's see what our attorneys have to say about this.”

They called in two of their corporate attorneys and played the record again. And again the verdict was that there was no way that they were going to play this record on the air. But the attorneys gave me an out, a chance.

“If you can prove that it really says ‘played a divorcee’ then we can play it,” one of them said.

“How can I prove it?”

“Can you come up with the lead sheets where it says ‘I played a divorcee?’”

The lead sheet. What people later buy as sheet music to play at home on the piano. What gets sent to the copyright office. The Stones had sent me a lead sheet along with the tape of “Honky Tonk Women.” But I had never thought of actually changing the lyrics. Still, they did give me that opening. If I couldn't pull this thing off not only would they not play the record but my own credibility would be shot as well. I could fall right on my face.

Back in the office I checked the 10 type writers we had. One was close to the type on the lead sheet. Not exactly, but close enough. I photocopied the lead sheet and where it said “laid a divorcee” I whited that out and typed in “played a divorcee.” I made a copy of that. In fact, I made 50 copies of it. If the public didn't like the lyrics, then the radio station had the lead sheets to send to anybody who complained.

Two hours later I was back at WMCA with my lead sheets. I still figured something could happen even after they saw the lead sheet. They might just not like the record. They might say it was no good. But the lead sheet I gave them was what they wanted. They agreed to play the record. It went on to become a No. 1 single.

 

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