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- [00:00]
Lindsey Graham
Want to get more from business movers? Subscribe to Wondery for early access to new episodes, ad free listening and exclusive content you can't find anywhere else. Join Wondery in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. It's June 1971. In a back office at Virgin Records in London, England. 20 year old Richard Branson throws a pile of papers on his desk and leans back in his chair, covering his face with his hands. Normally, Richard leaves as much of the paperwork as possible to his business partner. His dyslexia and dyscalculia slow down. How quickly he can read. And Richard knows his talents lie elsewhere. But these documents are for Richard's eyes only. Last month, Richard was arrested by customs agents for tax evasion. He'd been pretending to export records to Belgium to avoid paying British sales tax. And today he received legal papers from the prosecutor. They confirm what Richard already knew. He's been caught red handed. The telephone rings and Richard snatches it up. He's been expecting a call. Virgin Records, good morning. May I speak to Mr. Branson, please? You're speaking to him. Mr. Branson, I'm calling from Spencer and Simpson, the law firm assigned to your case. Yes, hello. I've just been looking through the paperwork. Now, it's not an encouraging read, is it? Well, there is some good news. The tax authorities are usually more interested in collecting money than spending it, so they'll want to avoid a lengthy court case as much as we do. Based on the conversations I've had so far, they seem willing to negotiate a settlement. Well, that's the best news I've heard in weeks. But don't celebrate too soon. You have to do more than just pay back what you owe. There will be penalties, and steep ones too. It says here that you made roughly 20,000 pounds from your export scheme. Is that correct? Yeah, that's about right. Well, in a best case scenario, they'll want you to pay at least double what you owe, but probably three or four times that amount. So what, £80,000? Possibly, yes. Richard feels the blood drain from his face. I don't have that kind of money. What about assets? Anything that could be sold or used as collateral? I don't think so. That's why I was trying to avoid paying taxes in the first place. What about the house in Oxfordshire? I've only got about 15% equity. Well, look, we can probably bring the amount down a bit and you won't have to pay all of it at once. They'll arrange a payment plan, but you will have to pay is. Is there really no other way? Not unless you want to fight it in court. But I think we both agree that you really don't have a leg to stand on, Mr. Branson. If I were you, I would start thinking of ways to make your business more profitable. In the end, Richard Branson's lawyer negotiated a settlement with the British government. Richard agreed to pay £60,000 over four years. It was a large fine, the equivalent of more than a million dollars today. In exchange, Richard wouldn't be prosecuted and he wouldn't have a criminal record. But if he missed any of the payments, the authorities could reopen the case and take him to court. Richard had always been motivated to make Virgin Records a success, but now the stakes were higher than ever.
- [03:30]
Richard Branson
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- [04:01]
Lindsey Graham
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That's Upwork.com to post your job for free and connect with top talent ready to help your business grow up. W o r k.com upwork.com From Wondery I'm Lindsey Graham and this is business members. In 1971, Virgin Records was the hottest new store in London. What began as a mail order business had branched out into Brick and mortar. And its Oxford street location was the place for music lovers in the English capital. Co founders Richard Branson and Nick Powell had successfully diversified from magazine publishing into retail. By doing things differently, Virgin Records offered a new kind of shopping experience. Customers were encouraged to hang out, browse, discover new artists, surrounded by other music fans. But despite the store's success, Richard had not been satisfied with just being a retailer. He'd wanted Virgin to get into music production and publishing as well. So Richard had bought Shipton Manor, a run down house in the English countryside, and begun the slow process of transforming it into a recording studio. But Richard's ambitions did not come cheap. And when he discovered a way to cheat the tax system, he hadn't been able to resist. A few months later, though, his choices led him to being arrested and charged with tax evasion. Richard realized he'd gone too far and vowed never to make a mistake like that again. But he also knew that Virgin's success had come from its maverick approach. Over the next few years, he'd have to find a way to balance his instincts, to learn how to break the mold without crossing the line. This is the third episode in our four part series on the origins of the Virgin Growing pains It's September 1971 at a Greek restaurant in London, one month after Richard Branson reached a settlement with the British tax authorities. Richard, now 21, folds his menu and hands it back to the waiter. My usual please, Stephanos. The waiter nods and then turns to the man sitting across the table. 20 year old Simon Draper squints at the menu in confusion. I guess the same for me, thanks. The waiter nods and disappears toward the kitchen. Simon leans across the table. What did, what did I just order? Fried octopus. Oh, I'm kidding. It's meatballs. You live. Richard and Simon are second cousins, but they've never met before. Today. Simon has just graduated from college in South Africa and has traveled to London to look for work. And Richard might be looking to hire. So I hear you're trying to find something at the BBC. Yeah, I'd love to get a job in broadcasting if I can. Ideally something to do with music. You know, I had a little radio show back home, just a half hour a week, but it gave me an excuse to buy as many records as I could afford. Oh yeah? What kind of stuff do you like? Oh, everything. That sounds like a cop out, doesn't it? But I mean, it's all connected, right? And the more you listen, the more you hear the patterns. Jazz, blues, rock, folk, even classical. You can Find the connections. But you guys here are so spoiled, you can just walk into a store and buy whatever you want. In South Africa, I'd sometimes have to wait months for new albums. Richard had heard from his family that Simon was into music, but he didn't expect him to be this passionate. And he starts to think he's found the answer to a recent problem. Well, look, Simon, I don't want to be a downer, but the BBC is tough. I know a few people, and I can pass your name along, but I can't guarantee anything. No, no, of course. I figured. But while you work on that, maybe I can help keep you busy. I know we've only just met, but, you know, you're family, so hear me out on this. We need a new record buyer at Virgin. What? Me, a buyer? What even is that? A buyer is someone who finds the next greatest hit and knows where the trends are going. Why not you? You clearly know your stuff. You'd be better than the guy doing it now. Oh, yeah? Who's that? Well, you're looking at him. I know what I like, but I'm no good at predicting what other people like. It's basically potluck whether a record I order will fly off the shelves or stay there for months. I'm a fan, but I'm not, you know. Richard trails off, not sure how to describe Simon's dedication to music. But Simon interrupts with a smile. You're not obsessive. I mean, you can say it. I wear that badge with pride. Well, good, because that's exactly the vibe we're going for. Virgin is for people who live and breathe music. We don't want just top 40 stuff. People should leave our store saying, I discovered my new favorite band at my new favorite store, and for that, we need a tastemaker, you know? So what do you say? 20 pounds a week, you can buy all the records you want. Simon Draper was not just passionate about music. He was a walking encyclopedia of it. He knew just about every obscure band going, and he had a knack for identifying potential chart toppers that weren't on sale in other stores. So with Simon in charge of buying music, Richard Branson was sure that Virgin Records would keep hitting the right notes with customers. As soon as Richard Branson handed over responsibility for the Virgin catalog, Simon Draper set about overhauling everything to give Virgin a cohesive and distinctive new identity. He visited the Virgin Records store to inspect the stock and talk with customers and staff about the music they liked and the records that were selling. After hearing what they had to say. Simon quickly made one big change. He stopped buying what he dismissed as teenybopper music pop singles like bands like the Osmonds and the Sweet, that were designed to appeal to younger listeners. Not selling those records would mean that Virgin missed out on some revenue. But the profit margin on singles was low anyway, anyway, and sales tended to plummet as soon as the song dropped off the charts. That often left retailers with stock they had to sell at a discount or even at a loss. But that wasn't the most important reason Simon removed them from the shelves. The singles clashed with the Virgin brand. This was meant to be a store for music lovers, those who believed they had sophisticated tastes. They weren't interested in bubblegum pop. Their favorite bands barely even released singles. Instead, they made albums designed as complete works of art. And that was what Virgin's customers wanted to buy. So instead of stocking the mass market singles that were available in every other record store, Simon began sourcing music that couldn't be found anywhere else. He started looking abroad, to America, France and Germany for new sounds and new artists. And then he found some hidden gems in the albums that British record companies had written off as poor sellers. But Simon was convinced that many of these albums hadn't flopped because the music was bad, but because the record company hadn't marketed them properly. Simon identified the albums he thought would appeal to Virgin's target customers and pick them up cheap. Simon soon found that he enjoyed his new job so much that he gave up applying for roles at the BBC. And Richard was more than happy to keep him on, because Simon's curated and refreshed stock was selling better than ever before, which was welcome news. Richard had always intended to open more Virgin Records stores if the Oxford street flagship was a success. So in late 1971, with revenue increasing rapidly, Richard decided the time was right to expand. He laid out an ambitious plan. Virgin Records would open one new location a month for an entire year, building a national retail chain by the end of 1972. It would begin with three or four new stores in London before expanding into the United Kingdom's other major cities. But Richard's expansion plans had a major problem. Most of the profits from the store on Oxford street were spent on the ongoing conversion of Shipton Manor into a recording studio. Anything that was left over after that went towards slowly paying off the fine levied on Richard by customs authorities. There wasn't the budget to open a single new store, let alone one a month. But Richard charged forward by slashing the biggest setup cost he faced rent. Every time he went looking for a new location, he used the same technique. First, he canvassed young people to establish where they hung out and where a new record shop would get the most foot traffic. Then he homed in on the cheaper end of these popular areas and found a vacant storefront. Approaching the building's landlord, Richard would negotiate the rent down as low as possible before making one final request three months of free rent. Some landlords balked at Richard's request, and he missed out on several suitable properties as a result. But the three month grace period was a vital part of his expansion plans. By getting three months for free, Richard could fund the rent on the previous store he had just opened. This gave it more time to establish itself while Richard looked for another new location to keep the chain going. This strategy enabled Virgin Records to grow rapidly at little cost, and by March 1972, Richard was ready to open his first store outside of London. Liverpool was a natural choice for Virgin. As the hometown of the Beatles, Liverpool was famous for his vibrant music scene. And with its heritage as a port city, Richard hoped it would be open to the kind of international artists promoted by Simon Draper. On opening day, the new Virgin Records store in Liverpool drew huge crowds. During its first week. The Stock took in £10,000 in revenue, around $200,000 today. But after that, revenue dropped sharply. Richard had expected a dip after the novelty wore off, but the decline was much steeper than anything he'd seen at Virgin's London stores. Four months in, the Liverpool store was taking in just £2,000 a week. Richard pored over the sales figures, but he couldn't figure out what was going on from his office in London. So he decided to head north to Liverpool to see what was happening on the ground. When he arrived at the Virgin records store, he soon discovered the problem. At first glance, the store seemed to be a roaring success. It was so packed that there was a line of customers outside waiting to get in. But the line wasn't moving inside. Music blasted from the store's speakers. There was a distinctive smell of marijuana in the air. And as Richard tried to make his way to the register at the back of the room, he tripped over teenagers and 20 somethings lounging around on beanbags. It had always been Richard's intention to provide customers with a comfortable, welcoming environment where they could stay for as long as they wanted to discover new music. But in Liverpool, that had been taken too far. This was more like a house party than a record shop. Richard didn't want Virgin Records to lose its soul. But he realized it had to start operating more like a business. So he made some immediate changes. He brightened the lighting, he changed the placement of the cash registers to make sure they were easily accessible, and the staff were told to gently but firmly remind customers that they were in a store, not a nightclub. These small changes proved effective. Revenues in Liverpool recovered, and the new policies were implemented in all other Virgin Records stores. By the end of 1972, Richard had achieved his ambitious expansion target. There were now 14 Virgin Records stores open across the UK and each one was making a profit. Despite the hefty fine from Richard's tax evasion case, his retail businesses had not just survived but thrived, and Richard believed it was time to take the company to the next level. Virgin had already achieved success by selling music. Now Richard hoped to accelerate his company's growth by making music as well. Here's a tip for growing your business get the Venture X Business Card from Capital One and start earning unlimited double miles on every purchase. That's right, with unlimited double miles, the more your business spends, the more miles you earn. Plus, the venturex Business Card has no preset spending limit, so your purchasing power can adapt to meet your business needs. The VentureX business card also includes access to over a thousand airport lounges. 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But today, Richard has more than a friendly conversation in mind. He gestures ahead. My boat's right up here. You know, I've sometimes thought about trying the houseboat lifestyle myself. So quiet down here. Well, it is great until something goes wrong and you worry the whole thing's gonna sink. A bit like running a label, I'd imagine. How's that going? Recently, Richard launched Bergin's newest venture, a record label. But he hasn't signed any big name artists yet. Instead, the company's first release is by an unknown session musician. Well, you know, our debut record's about to come out. Mike Oldfield. Yeah. Tubular Bells. Interesting choice. It's. It's an incredible piece of work, John. Mike's only 19, but he plays every part on the record. More than 20 instruments, over 2,000 individual takes, all layered together. It's obsessive, but brilliant. Yeah. Must have taken a month. Oh, God, it did. We'll be promoting in our stores, of course, but. Well, it would make a world of difference to sales if you could play it on the radio. Yeah. Is there any chance? Richard looks at John sheepishly. But before he can say anything, John smiles. Look, it's all right. You're not the first to ask. It comes with the territory, you know. But isn't tubular bells 50 minutes long? No vocals. It's not exactly radio friendly. It is different. But that's the reason I bought Shipton Manor, the reason I started the label in the first place. To do things differently. No time limits, no studio clocks, no one banging on the front door saying it's their turn. With Virgin, artists get the space they need to make something extraordinary. And I'm telling you, Tubular Bells is extraordinary. I know it sounds like it should be a mess, but, John, it's magnificent. It's haunting, it's hypnotic, it's even transcendent at times. It's like nothing else I've ever heard. All right, I'll give it a listen. I can't promise More than that, though. That is all I ask. Just give it a listen, right? What you do after that is entirely up to you. After a leisurely lunch on the deck of his houseboat, Richard Branson played Tubular Bells for John Peel. For the first minute or two, John seemed unimpressed. But then the rhythm of the music took hold, just as Richard had promised. The record had an irresistible, spellbinding quality. After listening to all 49 minutes and 18 seconds of it, John was a convert. And he agreed that there was a place for Tubular Bells at the BBC. Virgin's first record was undeniably a gamble. But thanks to his friendship with John, Richard had just improved its odds of success. By 1973, Richard Branson had been in the music business for three years. In that time, he'd established a successful national retail business and the recording studio he'd built at Shipton Manor was finally up and running and receiving bookings from artists. But despite this success, what Richard did not have was any experience in printing and distributing records. So when he founded Virgin Music, Richard decided to partner with a larger company that did. He chose Island Records. Island had been founded in Jamaica in 1959, but later moved to the United Kingdom. By 1973, it was one of the largest record labels in the country, with artists including Cat Stevens, Roxy Music and Bob Marley. Richard had first encountered Island Records when he was working on Student Magazine. He was impressed with their mold breaking approach to business. They'd practically introduced reggae music to the British market and Richard hoped they would be a good fit for Virgin Music. When Richard first approached them, Island's bosses assumed he wanted a standard license deal. These were common for fledgling music companies that lacked the infrastructure to distribute records themselves. Under the terms of the deal, Virgin would receive an upfront payment as an advance if the record sold well and made back that investment. Richard would then also receive a small slice of the royalties, around 18%. Some of that would have to be paid to the recording artist. But Virgin could still stand to make hundreds of thousands of pounds from a hit album. But Richard was not interested in that. Under a licensing deal, Island Records would keep the vast majority of the revenue. And Richard didn't want to give up so much to a company that he ultimately saw as a competitor. So instead, Richard presented a different proposal for a smaller cut of the profits. Island Records would produce the record and ship it to stores, but do nothing. Beyond that, Virgin would handle promotion itself. A pressing and distribution deal like this was an unorthodox arrangement for a new independent label. But Richard knew That Virgin Music was not a typical startup. It already had access to a national customer base through Richard's mail order business and his growing network of brick and mortar stores. And thanks to Richard's years in music, retail and magazine publishing, the new label could also call on a long list of media contacts to promote its artists. So after some hard negotiations, island agreed to Richard's proposal. It meant Virgin would make far more more money for every unit sold. But if the prize was bigger, so was the risk. There would be no upfront payment from Island Records and all the costs of promotion would fall on Virgin alone. If a record failed to capture the imagination of customers, Richard would be the one footing the bill, with the debt he owed the British government still hanging over him. It was a gamble many around Richard thought was unwise. But he was determined to prove them wrong. He went all in on Tubular Bells. Posters advertising the album were displayed in every Virgin Records store across the country. Richard sent review copies to all the major music magazines and he reached out to every contact he had to see if they would plug the record on his behalf. Richard's promotional blitz worked. A few days after Tubular bells was released, BBC radio host John Peele played the first 25 minutes of the album on his popular show Top Gear. John had a reputation for boosting underground and indie artists, but he'd never showcased anything like this before. And when the track was over, John left the listeners in no doubt of his opinion. I've been introducing Top Gear for nearly six years now, but I think that that is certainly one of the most impressive LPs that I've ever had the chance to play on the radio. Really a remarkable record from Mike Oldfield and one of the first releases on the new Virgin label and an incredible start for them, certainly. It's called Tubular Bells. The exposure on national radio had an immediate impact on sales. Over the next few weeks, customers flocked to Virgin Record stores to buy Mike Oldfield's album. It entered the UK charts on July 14, 1973, and by August it had hit the top 10. But it wasn't just the British public who were entranced by Tubular Bells. Among the early listeners was American movies movie director William Friedkin. When he heard the album for the first time, he was just putting the finishing touches on the Exorcist, a supernatural horror film about a young girl possessed by a demonic spirit. Friedkin thought that Tubular Bells would be perfect for his movie, and he added it to the soundtrack. And as the Exorcist became an unexpected hit, moviegoers all over the world raved about its haunting and mysterious music. And as a result, Tubular Bells charted in America, Canada and Australia, and stayed in the British top 10 for almost a year. Virgin Music's first release was an enormous hit, and thanks to Richard's determination to promote the record himself, the greatest share of the profits went to Virgin, not Island Records. Tubular Bells made the company in excess of $10 million in today's money, and Richard had finally made enough to pay off his debt to the tax authority. But Tubular Bells was just one record, and Richard knew that its sales would eventually decline. When that happened, he needed another record to take its place. And then another and another. But Tubular Bells was a phenomenon, and Richard couldn't expect other artists to go double platinum with their debut album. He knew that if Virgin was to top the charts often, he would need bigger, more established musicians. So Richard huddled with his chief music buyer, Simon Draver, and drew up a wish list of artists that they'd target. Then Richard got to work. Over the next few months, he contacted the managers of some of Britain and America's most successful bands. With the windfall from Tubular Bells, he tried to lure these artists from their existing labels. As their record deals came up for renewal, Richard offered as much as £350,000 for a single album. The but the managers of the who, Pink Floyd and 10cc all said no. Even with the modern equivalent of $7 million on the table, none of these acts saw Virgin as a serious player. They all thought Richard had just gotten lucky and that lightning wouldn't strike twice. But Richard did not give up. Instead, he tried something even more ambitious. He made a bid to sign Britain's biggest ban of all. By 1975, the Rolling Stones had sold more than 50 million records worldwide. They were some of the best paid musicians on the planet, and their next album was set to earn them $3 million from the record label EMI, the equivalent of almost 20 million today. But that price tag didn't deter Richard. He offered the band 4 million to sign with Virgin Music instead. But even with the spectacular profits from Tubular Bells, that was more than Virgin could afford. Afford. So, to put together the package, Richard had to seek outside financing from banks and his international distribution partners. When he'd finally secured the money he needed, Richard drove to meet the Rolling Stones manager. Richard was ready to hand him a check for $4 million. But it still was not enough. The Stones had used Virgin's bid as a bargaining tool in negotiations with EMI, and they had countered with 5 million. That was simply too much. For Virgin Music. Once again, Richard Branson was left disappointed. Sales of Tubular Bells kept Virgin in the black, but aside from Mike Oldfield, no other Virgin artist was making the label any money, and Richard still had nothing to show for his quest to sign a list talent. Meanwhile, the world of music was shifting. The time of the hippies was fading, and a new and far more aggressive counterculture culture was emerging. The punk rock era was about to begin, and unless Richard Branson did something, Virgin Music was in danger of being left behind.
- [29:38]
Richard Branson
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- [31:41]
Lindsey Graham
It's May 12, 1977 at Virgin's headquarters in London, four years after the release of Tubular Bells. Now 26 years old, Richard Branson rises from his desk as Malcolm McLaren saunters into his office. He's over an hour late, but Richard isn't surprised. 31 year old Malcolm manages The British punk rock group the Sex Pistols. And he's just as much of a troublemaker as the band he represents. Malcolm drops into the nearest chair and lights a cigarette. Well, here I am. Yeah, only an hour behind schedule and I think that counts as a compliment. Punctuality is for people with nowhere better to be. Well, I'm glad to see you either way because as you know, I wanted to sign the Pistols for months. Now you're available again. Yeah. Malcolm grins. They both know the history. Only six months ago, the Sex Pistols were dropped by EMI after the band gave a foul mouthed interview live on television. Next, the Pistols signed a deal with A and M Records, but they were quickly let go after trashing the CEO's office. Malcolm Blows smoke across the desk at Richard. So tell me, what are you offering that the others didn't? Well, the same money, but with a little less panic. Malcolm raises an eyebrow. You think you can handle us? That's brave. By my count, Malcolm, you've made 100 from two labels for releasing one single and swearing on live TV. I mean, I've got to hand it to you, that's impressive work. But it's not a long term business, is it? And you're concerned about our long term prospects? Mr. Branson, my point is, soon there won't be any labels left who are willing to take a chance on you. And what then? The headlines will dry up. No more records get sold. No more TV interviews. No more money. Malcolm taps ash into a nearby mug. Yeah, I've heard this one before. You want us to behave, right? Become good little choir boys. Maybe we should start banging those tubular bells of yours. Oh God no. I want you to stir the pot. Virgin is different. There's no one upstairs. We don't have shareholders. There's no one to embarrass. You want to be a problem? That's fine. Go ahead. Make headlines. But also make some music as well. Malcolm stands, stubs out his cigarette on the carpet and walks to the door. For a second Richard thinks it's over. But then Malcolm pauses. You realize what you're getting into, right? Richard smiles. I do. The question is, do you? The Sex Pistols wild behavior had made them a toxic property in the British music industry, but it had also made them famous. And with few other top artists willing to sign with Virginia, Richard Branson was ready to take the risk. He thought he'd be able to put the band's frenetic energy and scandalous reputation to good use. But when it came to the Sex Pistols, there was no such thing as a sure bet. When the Sex Pistols joined Virgin Music in 1977, the band had already recorded its next single, and it plunged Richard Branson's company straight into controversy. The new song was titled God Save the Queen, but it was far from a tribute to the British head of state. Instead, it described the monarchy as a fascist regime with no future. And if that wasn't offensive enough to many people in the uk, the timing was even more provocative. The song was released just over a week before a national celebration marking the 25th year of Queen Elizabeth II's reign. There were festivities planned all across Britain, where there was only one party that Sex pistols manager Malcolm McLaren wanted to crash. On June 7, 1977, thousands of people lined the streets of London to watch the procession of the royal family through the capital. Malcolm was determined that the Sex Pistols would be there too. So he chartered a riverboat suitably named the Queen Elizabeth and steamed down the River Thames towards central London. The Sex Pistols were on board with all their instruments, and Richard Branson was along for the ride. The idea was for the band to perform God Save the Queen within earshot of the royal celebrations. But that plan was quickly thwarted. Two police boats shadowed them all the way, and as soon as the band started playing, officers came aboard the Queen Elizabeth and forced the boat to dock. More uniformed officers were waiting on the pier, and they swarmed onto the boat and dragged all its occupants off. Although the Sex Pistols did not perform their song for more than a few seconds, the stunt was still effective. The press was all over the story the next day, writing up disapproving reports of the band's attempt to hijack the festivities. But while the establishment reacted with horror, many young people applauded the pistol's latest outrage. And over the next week, God Save The Queen sold 100,000 copies. Richard Branson was delighted. It seemed his gamble was paying off, and he looked forward to the release of the band's first studio album, due a few months later. But controversy was never far away from the Sex Pistols. Their new record was titled Nevermind the Bollocks. Here's the Sex Pistols. It was a play on British slang, But not everyone was amused. Politicians criticized the title as proof of society's decline. Ads for the record were pulled from television and radio. Mainstream British retailers refused to sell the album, and even the police got involved. When the manager of a Virgin Records store in Nottingham refused to take down a poster promoting the album, he was arrested on obscenity charges. Once again, Richard Branson had run afoul of the Indecent Advertisements Act. Ten years earlier, he'd been prosecuted for just printing the words venereal disease on a leaflet. Now he had to defend his right to free speech all over again. The case was heard in November 1977. The judge called the Sex Pistols album the vulgar exploitation of the worst instincts of human nature. But even he had to admit that Richard Branson and Virgin had done nothing wrong. Fending word bollocks had been printed in many other contexts without the police getting involved, so there had been no reason for them to do so. Now Virgin was found not guilty. The publicity around this case helped the record label sell more than 1.5 million copies of Nevermind the Bollocks. But the Sex Pistols did not prove to be the long term investment that Richard had hoped they would be. Relationships between the band and their manager were falling apart amid drunken violence and spiraling drug use. Just two months after the obscenity trial, the second Pistols broke up. By this point, Richard Branson was starting to feel jaded by the music business. After Tubular Bells, it had taken him four years to find another hit. Now with the Pistols gone, he faced the same challenge again. But Richard Branson had never intended to limit himself to one single industry. He'd come up with the name Virgin in part because it was non specific enough for him to use it in almost any market. As he approached the age of 30, Richard wondered if it was time to leave music behind for new horizons. His business ambitions had always been boundless. Now they were about to take him to the skies from wondering. This is episode three of Richard Branson and the Birth of Virgin for business movers. On the next episode, the launch of Virgin Atlantic upends the aviation industry and picks reaches Richard into battle with one of the UK's biggest companies. If you like business movers, you can unlock exclusive episodes found nowhere else on Wondery and access new episodes early and ad free. Join Wondery in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a survey@wondery.com survey if you'd like to learn more about the early days of Virgin, we recommend Losing My Virginity by Richard Branson, Virgin Inside Richard Branson's Business Empire by Tim Jackson and 1977 the Queen's Punk Jubilee by Neil Spencer, published in the observer in 2012. A quick note about our dramatizations. In most cases, we can't know everything that happened, but all our reenactments are based on historical revolution research. Business Movers is hosted, edited and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Mohamed Shazi. Sound design by Molly Bond. Our supervising sound designer is Matthew Filler. Music by Thrum. This episode is written and researched by Emma Dipton. Senior producer, Scott Reeves. Executive producers are William Simpson for airship and Aaron O'Flaherty, Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marshall Louie for Wondering. 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