Alex Mejia turns up the volume on his quintuple-decker stereo system, and a young woman’s voice rolls out, rich, nuanced and bluesy.

Mejia is in charge of signing and managing new talent for Noo Trybe, a label in Virgin Records’ urban music division, and he has just sat down in his Beverly Hills office for the industry’s equivalent of an audition.

Across the desk, John Rhone studies Mejia’s face for a reaction. Rhone, who arranged and co-wrote the music now filling the office, is looking to cut a deal with Mejia for the 21-year-old African American singer.

“Her name’s Kandice Love. I’ve already got an offer on her from Capitol,” Rhone had told Mejia a few minutes earlier, before handing him the sample CD. “They want to talk numbers next week. I’m looking around now to see if I can’t get something better.”

Mejia didn’t question the claim. But privately, he took the news of the Capitol offer with a grain of salt. The acquisition process is a bartering game, and a lot of producers say things like that when they’re bringing a new client to the table.

Now, while the music plays and Mejia flips through a stack of old phone messages, Rhone waits for a response.

Finally, Mejia looks up and smiles. “Gorgeous stuff,” he says to Rhone. “How’d you meet her?”

“We knew her,” Rhone says. “She was like 15 years old when we met her.”

Mejia asks if she can write.

“She co-wrote this song,” Rhone said.

“So does she need you guys as a crutch?” Mejia asked.

The answer will not only tell Mejia whether she is multi-talented, but whether he could sign the girl without Rhone’s services attached and pair her up with a different producer.

Finding new talent is the lifeblood of the record industry, and the success of companies like Virgin in large part depends on the success of Mejia and his counterparts in identifying new artists and signing them to contracts.

In this case, Mejia can see that Rhone’s services are clearly attached to this deal. To leverage the situation otherwise wouldn’t make for good business, especially in the early stages of their working relationship.

And Mejia does want to establish a working relationship with Rhone. The two have known each other for years. Like Mejia, Rhone started as a DJ in the Bay Area in the early 1980s.

Mejia was born and raised in Oakland, where he grew up on funk music. When his mother, a BART telephone operator, got a raise, she moved the family to Alameda.

“I’d never heard rock until I moved into Alameda,” Mejia says. “That’s where I first heard AC/DC and Journey. It was a good balance for me, because I realized music is meant for everyone.”

Mejia, who studied music at Alameda Junior College, got his start in 1987 as an intern late-night disc jockey at San Francisco’s KMEL-FM 106.1. Along with other DJs, Mejia introduced the “full mix” format to the station an almost non-stop, continuous party-music style taken out of the hippest dance clubs.

After a few years at KMEL, Mejia was put in charge of the station’s DJs and music mix making him a very important man to producers and record companies seeking airplay.

Rhone and other producers would bring in samples of their music to get an idea which artists Mejia might be inclined to promote. If Mejia got behind an album, he’d hype it around town and to other DJs around the country.

“Not only were we breaking records, we were advising artists how to create hit records,” Mejia says.

Through KMEL, Mejia first met Eric Brooks, a former promotions executive for Priority Records. Brooks, who now heads Virgin’s urban music division, hired Mejia last year.

As Mejia’s star ascended, so did Rhone’s. For three years, Rhone was signed to produce, arrange and write music for MC Hammer’s production company. Now Rhone and Mejia are meeting again in Mejia’s small office, which is decorated with framed CDs, given to Mejia by record companies thankful for the airplay he gave their artists at KMEL.

As for the young woman Rhone is now trying to sell, Mejia wants to know what she looks like.

“She’s beautiful,” Rhone says.

“Dang, give her my number,” Mejia quips.

“And she doesn’t eat no junk,” Rhone tells Mejia. “When she came to town we went to Whole Foods to get groceries.”

Good looks aside, Mejia said what he is looking for in a new artist is “OPC” originality, passion and creativity.

“I’m looking for the heat,” he says. “I’m looking for that new bangin’ hit.”

Typically a producer will bring tracks to Mejia’s office, as Rhone has done, but Mejia spends two nights or so a week checking out talent at clubs, as well as a lot of time on the phone with producers, managers, artists and others in the business.

To Rhone, Mejia puts it this way: “I need music that’s more rah rah. Think Friday. Every day is Friday in my world. They kicked my dog, my boss yelled at me, my computer exploded, but I got a little money in my pocket, and I’m going out to a club tonight and I’m going to start over fresh. I need R & B; up-tempo records.”

“I’ve got a gang of tracks like that, I just didn’t bring ’em,” Rhone says.

Next, Mejia asks whether Rhone wants to do some “remix” work putting new music behind vocals. He puts a tape in the stereo and plays it. Something about the mix seems off. It feels strained, uncomfortable.

“So what are you looking for?” Rhone asks.

“Something you can dance to,” Mejia said. “Something really aggressive. Make that beat head-noddin’, even before she comes on. Like, I wanna dance.”

The phone rings. Mejia takes the call.

It’s a video editor, who is putting together a TV ad. “Yeah, go ahead, play it for me,” Mejia says.

After a few moments: “It’s better, but it sounds like he’s cussing right before the hook. He said ‘ass.’ This is going to the Midwest, and it can’t go out like that.”

Mejia listens. Rolls his eyes. “Listen, dude, I cut a lot of things for this company, so it’s got to be redone. All right. Thanks. And say thanks to Jeremy. I’ll holler atcha’ later.”