Music: Greatest Hitmaker

"It's not like the early days of rock anymore," says Naftaly, Davis' senior vice president of A. and R. "Maybe once in a career now will you come across something where you have total exclusivity, and it's a secret discovery. More often than not, all the record companies have access to the same pool of reasonably skilled, potentially viable acts." Davis' team carefully scours the pool before presenting acts to the boss. "I don't want us to come off as a bunch of insecure kids plotting for Clive's attention," says Naftaly, "but this is Clive Davis, and based on his legacy and his level of taste, you really, really don't want to miss."

In marathon listening sessions, the team members play Davis their finds while the boss sits at the head of a conference table, sips Diet Cokes and scans the lyric sheets that he demands accompany every submission. ("I'm much more lyric driven than track driven," says Davis.) When the music stops, Davis unleashes his opinion--sometimes devastating. "I see no point in lying or holding back," he says. "If I hate something, I tell them." If Davis likes what he hears, he sets up a live performance in the label offices: "I do that to ensure quality. I am trying to get a sense of energy, to see if these acts have charisma. Many don't."

When Davis finds an act he wants to sign, he has the great advantage of being Clive Davis. "These kids," says a rival executive, "they go into his office, and they've heard Clive Davis thanked in every Grammy speech since they could talk. And he's very shrewd about playing up that celebrity." DeGraw, 2004's big thing, was all but signed with Atlantic Records when Davis heard his tape and arranged a meeting. He sat with DeGraw and went over the relative strengths and weaknesses of the two labels. Then he left the room and a J employee put on a videotape of Davis acolytes such as Bruce Springsteen, Aretha Franklin and Steven Tyler gurgling praise for their mentor. "When Aretha Franklin says, 'Clive Davis is a god,'" says the rival executive, "who would you sign with?"

DeGraw may turn into Elton John, and Keys could be the next Whitney Houston, but RCA, like the other major labels, still has to figure out how to stop file traders and CD burners from sucking away its profits. This is not Davis' strength. He works on a computer-free desk, and his solution to the industry's tech woes is "vigilant legal enforcement." When it's suggested that this isn't much of a solution, he chuckles. "Don't get me wrong," he says. "I don't want people stealing our music. But in my position, I'd worry more if they didn't want to steal it."