Imagine standing on a stage, right? You open
your mouth and you are singing a hit song that
you literally wrote 30 years ago. Yeah, a song
that defined your entire career. Exactly. You
were using the exact same vocal chords. You're
hitting the exact same harmonies that made that
song famous around the entire world. Right. But
then you step off the stage and you are handed
a court order. A piece of paper telling you that,
legally speaking, your voice and your history
belong to someone else. It's wild. Someone who
wasn't even in the room when you wrote the song.
Right. Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today, we are
taking you on a mission to explore a truly mind
-bending story about rock and roll, human identity,
and, well, what happens when the legal entity
of a band actually outlives its original creators?
It is the ultimate collision between biological
reality and corporate law. Because, you know,
you cannot physically separate a singer from
their vocal cords. But as we're about to see
today, on paper, you absolutely can sever an
artist from their own identity. Yeah, it's pretty
bleak. So our source today is a Wikipedia article
detailing a 2002 Federal Court of Australia decision.
The case is called We Too Peta Ltd v Shore Rock.
And I know at first glance, that sounds like
a dispute over, I don't know, commercial office
furniture or something. It sounds incredible.
just a boilerplate corporate lawsuit between
two unrecognizable entities. But it is actually
a vicious battle for the soul and the very name
of one of the most successful pop rock groups
in Australian history. OK, let's untack this.
Let's do it. To understand how a group of original
founding singers got sued over the use of their
own name, we have to travel back to Melbourne,
Australia. Right, back to March of 1975. Exactly.
This is the birth of the globally successful
group Little River Band. And that foundational
moment in 75, it really establishes the core
creative engine of Little River Band, or LRB.
Right. For our purposes, the key names you need
to track are B. Birtles, who was actually born
Gerard Birtlecamp. Graham Goble, and Glenn Shorrock.
The primary vocalists. Exactly. There were a
few other instrumentalists, like Derek Palichy,
Graham Davidge, and Dave Orams, but Bertels,
Goble, and Shorrock are the primary vocal and
creative forces driving that early success. They're
the guys sweating in the studio, writing the
hits, singing the harmonies, doing those grueling
promotional tours, and they bring on a manager
named Glenn Wheatley. Which is pretty standard.
Right, and as is incredibly common, when a band
starts making real international money, they
realize they can't just operate out of a shoebox
under a bed, you know, and they have to form
a company. Because the music business is, first
and foremost, a business. When royalties start
pouring in from radio play, record sales, merchandise,
you need a legal bucket to hold and distribute
that money. And pay the tax man. Exactly. You
also need a shield for personal liability. So
in 1975, Goble and their manager Wheatley form
a holding company. They call it the Little River
Band Ploedy LTD. And for anyone listening who
isn't familiar with Australian business terms,
Ploedy LTD is basically the equivalent of a private
limited company, or like an LLC in the States.
Right, it's a standard corporate structure. So
if you've ever started a small business or an
LLC with friends, you know how this works. In
the beginning, everyone is storing their energy
in, the paperwork feels like a formality, and
you're just focused on building the product.
And for a while, their product is flawless. I
mean, they achieve massive commercial success
in Australia, and they break huge into the United
States. But bands are like living organisms.
They mutate. Oh, constantly. People get exhausted
from touring, creative differences pop up, and
members cycle in and out. Fast forward to August
of 1981, a guitarist named Stephen Hausden joins
the band. Keep your eye on Stephen Hausden. When
he joins in 81, he is stepping into a highly
lucrative, well -oiled machine. Right, the heavy
lifting has been done. Exactly. He joins a lineup
that still includes founders like Bertels, Goble,
Policci, and Shorrock, plus a couple of newer
guys. Housden is essentially the new employee.
But the shifting accelerates pretty quickly after
that. Bertels leaves the band in 1983. the manager,
Glenn Wheatley, he resigns in 1987. Yeah, big
changes. And that same year, the Remain members
decide to completely restructure the business
side of things. They establish a brand new holding
company for the Little River Band, and they call
it We Too Putty LTD. And the structure of We
Too Putty LTD is crucial to everything that follows.
How so? Well, the directors of this new company
are simply the current active band members at
that exact moment in 1987. So that's Graham Goebel,
Stephen Hausden, Wayne Nelson, Derek Palicci,
and Glenn Shorrock. Okay. They are all directors,
and they all hold equal shares. Which, you know,
seems perfectly fair on paper. Whoever is currently
sweating on stage gets an equal slice of the
corporate pie. It does seem fair. But corporate
shares are tied to active participation. If you
quit the band, you don't get to take your slice
of the pie home and just sit on your couch and
collect money. You resign your directorship,
and your shares stay with the active company.
Right. That is standard corporate operating procedure.
But the fatal error, the move that seals their
fate, entirely happens the very next year. In
1988? Yes. In 1988, founder Graham Goble and
former manager Glenn Wheatley officially transfer
the ownership of the band name Little River Band
along with all the associated trademarks and
logos. Oh no. Yeah. They move all of it from
the original 1975 holding company into this new
company, We Too Play LTD. They basically took
the title to the car, so to speak, and signed
it over to the new LLC. That's exactly what they
did. To put this into perspective for you, it's
like building a beautiful custom home with your
best friends. You design the architecture, you
lay the foundation, you put your blood and sweat
into it. Yep. But over the years, as people slowly
move out to pursue other things or, you know,
start families, the guy who rented the guest
room six years later ends up holding the sole
deed to the property. That is a perfect analogy,
because that is exactly how the attrition played
out here. It's just wild. After that 1988 transfer,
the original members slowly bleed out of the
organization. Graham Webber leaves in 1992. Wayne
Nelson and founder Glenn Shorrock leave in 1996.
Derek Polici leaves in 1998. And every single
time one of them walks out the door, they surrender
their active stake in We Too Betty LTD. Leaving
Stephen Hausden sitting alone in the boardroom?
Exactly. By 1998, Stephen Hausden is the sole
remaining director. He becomes the 100 % owner
of We Too Betty LTD. Wow. He is the last man
standing. And because We Too owns the trademarks,
Hausden essentially is the Little River Band.
Legally speaking. Legally speaking. Right. Any
new or returning musicians from that point forward
are not joining a creative brotherhood. They're
contracted employees working for Stephen Housden.
So Housden is sitting on this quiet, massive
legal goldmine. Yeah. But a trademark is really
only as good as the threat to its power, right?
No. And that threat arrived in early 2002 because
eventually the original voices actually missed
singing together. They wanted to get back out
there. Exactly. Bertles, Shorrock, and Goble
reunite. They form a trio. They bring back their
old manager, Glenn Wheatley, and they actually
revive their original 1975 holding company. They
want to get back on stage. Right. And they plan
to perform as Bertles, Shorrock, Goble, and they
specifically capitalize the L, R, and B in their
names on the posters. Clever. Yeah, very clever.
They also want to build themselves using phrases
like the original Little River Band or the voices
of Little River Band. Which biologically and
historically is completely accurate. It is a
factual description of who they are. It is. But
Housden discovers this plan and immediately drops
the hammer. He hits them with a legal injunction
to cease and desist, demanding they stop using
the name Little River Band in any capacity. Zero
tolerance. And just like that, they're dragged
into the Federal Court of Australia. So the written
submissions began on June 17th, 2002, before
Justice Raymond Finkelstein. WE2 Plitty LTD,
representing Housden, is the applicant. Shorrock,
Bertels, and Goebel are the respondents. But
the founders fight back, right? They do. They
launch a cross -claim. They argue that the trademark
should be returned to them based on... prior
ownership. Okay. They argue that a trademark's
value comes from the cultural goodwill it generates.
And they were the actual human beings who generated
that goodwill in the 1970s. Here's where it gets
really interesting because I have to push back
on the legal reality here. Okay, go for it. As
someone looking at this from the outside, common
sense screams that the founders are right. I
mean, if they are singing the exact songs they
wrote with the exact voices that made those songs
famous, how does a piece of administrative paperwork
defeat the actual physical voices of the people
who built the legacy? I get it. It is deeply
counterintuitive to how we view art. We view
art romantically, right? Of course. But trademark
law does not care about romance. And it does
not care about historical authorship. It cares
about the rules. Exactly. Trademark law is fundamentally
about consumer protection and identifying the
commercial origin of a product. The law looks
at the paper trail. And Stephen Housden didn't
just walk into court with a gentleman's agreement.
He came with international receipts. Right. He
had the official documentation showing the 1988
assignment of the trademarks to We Too. And crucially,
he showed that this trademark was officially
registered with the United States Patent and
Trademark Office back in 1989. And that international
registration made it completely bulletproof.
Now, the founders also tried to argue that we,
too, should lose the trademark due to a lack
of use. What does that mean? Well, in trademark
law, there is a concept of a statutory period,
meaning if you own a trademark, but you don't
actively use it in commerce for a set number
of years, it can be considered abandoned. Oh,
I see. But Housen completely dismantled this
argument. He provided concrete evidence that
we, too, have been actively touring and using
the trademark the entire time. But the most devastating
piece of evidence. The part that really highlights
how disconnected the artists had become from
the business side of things involved the internet.
Oh, this part is brutal. It really is. Housden
presented a record showing that in the year 2000,
B. Birtles himself had transferred the ownership
of the URL littleriverband .com directly to We2PD
LTD. Just two years before the lawsuit. Yeah.
From a psychological standpoint, it's just tragic.
Birtles likely viewed it as simple administrative
cleanup. He probably thought, well, WE2 handles
the band's current logistics, so they should
manage the website registry. Makes total sense.
He had no idea he was handing housing the final
piece of ammunition for an upcoming trademark
war. So the founders are sitting in a federal
courtroom staring at this mountain of paperwork
that they themselves had signed over the decades.
Paperwork explicitly stating they do not own
the very thing they created. Yeah, and on the
second day of the trial, the reality finally
sets in. They see the writing on the wall. They
do. The original company withdraws their counterclaim,
but they surrender, essentially, and seek a settlement
with We Too PDLTD. And the immediate fallout
in court is harsh. Justice Finkelstein accepts
the settlement, but he has to rule on the financial
fallout. He orders the founders to pay half of
We Too's taxed costs. And for anyone unfamiliar
with Australian legal jargon. taxed costs doesn't
mean government taxes. Right. It means the court
officially calculates and itemizes the reasonable
legal fees incurred during the dispute. So the
founders had to foot half of Housden's legal
bill just for taking them to court. Exactly.
And adding insult to injury, Justice Ficklesand
makes a point to express his deep disappointment
on the record. He says it's regrettable that
the parties couldn't resolve this privately.
But the financial penalty pales in comparison
to the actual terms of the settlement outlined
on July 12, 2002. Yeah, the terms are absolutely
crushing. Bertels, Goebel, and Shorrock are strictly
banned from using the band name, the trademarks,
or the logos as their name, or even as part of
their name. They cannot call themselves Little
River Band. They cannot call themselves the original
Little River Band. The only concession granted
to them is descriptive use. Which means what,
exactly? In promotional and advertising material,
they are allowed to describe themselves factually.
They can say, we are the original members of
Little River Band, but they cannot bill their
actual performing act under that name. What's
fascinating to me is how aggressively this settlement
is enforced in the years that follow. It wasn't
just about the name on a concert marquee. No,
it went much further. In 2004, the founders try
to release a retrospective DVD titled Little
River Band. It's a long way there. It features
historical concert footage from their prime in
the 1970s and it gets blocked. Housden challenges
the manner in which they describe their link
to the band in the promotional materials. He
was rigorously protecting the corporate asset,
ensuring no consumer confusion. What's fascinating
here is the psychological toll. You have the
creators of this massively successful cultural
export legally forced to operate as former members
of their own life's work. They are treated like
alumni of a university they built, rather than
the ongoing soul of the music. And the absurdity
of this legal gag order reaches its absolute
peak in October 2004. the Australian Recording
Industry Association, A -R -I -A, which is basically
the Australian equivalent of the Grammy board
or the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Right. They
decide to induct the classic lineup of Little
River Band into their Hall of Fame. Which is
a massive lifetime achievement honor. the kind
of moment that validates an entire career. But
because of the 2002 settlement, when Bertels,
Goble, and Shore Rock get together to perform
their early hit, Help Is On Its Way, at the broadcast
ceremony, they can't just be introduced to the
crowd as the Little River Band. Right, they legally
can't. The national TV broadcast literally has
to bill them specifically as the classic lineup
of the Little River Band. It's unbelievable.
It is a bizarre, carefully negotiated legal loophole
just so they can stand on stage and play play
their own song at their own lifetime achievement
award. And the friction continued to simmer,
leading to another round in court in 2005. This
one was known as We Too PDLTDV Shore Rocks No.
2. Back to court. Back to court. Once again,
just as Finkelstein presided, both sides threw
claims and counterclaims at each other regarding
trademark infringement and misleading conduct.
But they were eventually dismissed. OK. They
reached the final comprehensive settlement in
July 2005 that essentially reaffirmed the status
quo. The founders could explicitly refer to their
heritage as the singers, songwriters and former
members of LRB, but Housen retained the absolute
right to the name. So the legal battles finally
stopped, but the emotional damage was permanent.
And the founders channeled their frustration
the only way musicians know how, right? They
went into the studio. They went into the studio
and wrote music about it. But we aren't talking
about protest songs tackling war or poverty or,
you know, political corruption. We are talking
about literal protest songs railing against contract
law and corporate shell games. Which has to be
one of the rarest subgenres in all of music history.
passionate, emotionally raw rock anthems about
intellectual property assignments. It is a hilarious
and sad contrast. In 2006, Graham Goble releases
a track called Someone's Taken Our History, which
is as literal a title as you can get. Very literal.
In 2012, B. Birtles releases a song called Revolving
Door using the corporate turnstile of band members
as a metaphor for their loss. And then in 2016,
Glenn Shorrock puts out a song titled perfectly
hear my voice. They are using classic rock instrumentation
to scream into the void about the cold, emotionless
machinery of the legal system. Yeah. But meanwhile,
the machinery kept right on humming. It sure
did. Because according to our sources, as of
October 2020, Stephen Houston's Little River
Band continues to tour. Wow. They play largely
in the United States, performing the massive
hits that were written, composed and made famous
by the very men who were legally banned from
using the name. Houston hires contracted musicians
to play the parts and the corporate entity continues
to generate revenue from its assets. It perfectly
distills the strange duality of art and commerce.
The legal entity of the Little River Band is
alive and well. Functioning exactly as a holding
company is designed to function. So what does
this all mean? Why should you, listening to this,
care about an obscure 2002 Australian court case?
Good question. It matters because it is a glaring
warning beacon for anyone who creates anything.
Whether you are starting an LLC, coding an app
with your college roommate, launching a podcast,
or forming an indie band in your garage, you
have to care about the boring administrative
holding company paperwork. Because when the creative
honeymoon ends and push comes to shove, the law
doesn't care about nostalgia. It really doesn't.
The law doesn't care who wrote the lyrics, who
sang the high harmony, or who had the original
dream. The law only cares about who signed the
trademark assignment and who holds the shares.
It's a harsh truth. A legendary group of artists
accidentally signed away their identity in 1988
because they just didn't understand the mechanics
of corporate attrition. And that led to a bizarre
reality in 2002 where the legal owner of the
band isn't an original member and the original
members aren't legally the band. It truly is
one of the strangest corporate shell games in
music history, a paper trail that managed to
completely overpower the human voice. And this
raises an important question, one that goes far
beyond just trademark law and actually gets into
ancient philosophy. Oh, here we go. It's essentially
the musical version of the ship of Theseus. The
old thought experiment, like if you have a famous
wooden ship. And over the years, you replace
every single rotting wooden plank with a new
one. Until absolutely none of the original wood
remains, is it still the same ship? Exactly.
Apply that to this deep dive. If a legal holding
company slowly replaces every single original
human member of a creative group with contracted
employees, but that entity legally retains the
trademark and the logo, is it still the same
band? That is the question. When you buy a ticket
to go see a legacy act play at a theater, what
are you actually paying for? Are you paying to
stand in the presence of a legally trademarked
corporate asset, or are you paying to connect
with the soul of the original creators? It makes
you wonder. If you can legally sever a singer's
voice from their public identity, and you hand
that identity over to a corporate filing whose
fingerprint is really on the music you're listening
to, something to mull over the next time you
hear a classic hit on the radio, or the next
time someone asks you to sign a partnership agreement.
Thanks for joining us on this deep dive. We'll
catch you next time.