Rollercoaster of litigation

Jon Stainbrook flipped through his portfolio of work with the enthusiasm of a teenager showing off his trophy collection - here a photo of Hillary Clinton, there his dog.

"We'll do the politics stuff last, because you haven't seen the politics stuff," Stainbrook said, raising his voice above the whirring of coffee machines.

His attorney, Anthony DeGidio, sat next to him in a noisy part of the coffee shop, raised his eyebrows above the rims of his glasses and took a cell phone break.

In what is becoming an unpleasant battle between UT grad student Stainbrook and the rock band Staind about who holds trademark authority over the word "Stain," the attorneys for both parties seem to agree on only one thing: Stainbrook is a very public, very loquacious fellow.

"Obviously, Mr. Stainbrook enjoys his 30 seconds of fame," said Brad Rose, the attorney representing the band Staind, Geffen Records president Jordan Schur and 4 Walls Inc., Staind's management company. "I know he's pretty active about sending out publicity about his big day in the sun," Rose said.

That big day in the sun - one Staind initiated in the U.S. District Court of Ohio after a complicated series of dealings between Stainbrook and the band - has its beginnings in 1980. Stainbrook, still a high school student at St. John's Jesuit High School in Toledo, formed a band called The Stain.

Almost 14 years later, Stainbrook decided to take "The Stain" and trademark it. He went into the '90s as punk rocker/politician/good Christian boy, and by 2000 his foresight brought him some cash and notoriety - he won two court battles over the trademark, one for compensation when In Living Color titled its album Stain and another forcing a band called Stain to change the name. (It's now known as Lit.)

The late '90s saw a group of New Englanders - Aaron Lewis, Mike Mushok, Jon Wysocki and Johnny April - form a band. They called it Stain.

In the world of trademarks and intellectual property, this can become a problem.

Even though Stain (now known as Staind, multi-platinum artists) were not aware of Stainbrook's trademark registration, the similarities in title could confuse the public, DeGidio said.

When the band began to gain recognition, the potential trademark dispute became apparent. According to Stainbrook, Jordan Schur (the record exec of "The Ashlee Simpson Show" fame) came calling.

Stainbrook and DeGidio said Schur and Staind brokered a deal - that Stainbrook and Staind would share the license to the Stain trademark, and in exchange, said Stainbrook, he would get help from the record company with distribution, publicity and gigs.

So he sold the mark for $18,000 and called it a deal.

Stainbrook said the deal has gone sour. And it's here where the both parties begin to diverge. Rose vehemently denies allegations of wrongdoing on the part of Schur and Staind. Schur's assistant (Schur couldn't be reached for comment at press time) calls Stainbrook a "wacko" and Stainbrook said all of them acted in bad faith.

"I thought everything was OK, but it wasn't," Stainbrook said. "Yeah - it's been going bad since the day I signed it, it's what's really been going on."

One of his first thoughts, Stainbrook said, was that he wanted to "test" out the new relationships he'd formed. He called Schur but was never able to reach him.

"I called the band's road manager 27 times, talked to him seven times," Stainbrook said. "And then they sue me and act like I never tried to contact them."

Neither his assistants nor Schur could comment on the case.

Schur and Staind's attorney said Stainbrook's "side-show issues" distract from what are invalid claims.

"However he chooses to address it I can't control," Rose said. "I have no doubt that Mr. Stainbrook and/or his publicity-seeking lawyer have probably painted your wall with whatever they wanted."

The "side-show issues" Rose refered to are complicated: a stipulation of the January 1999 contract between Stainbrook and Staind said the band is required to maintain the trademark with specimens (examples of the trademark in use) provided by Stainbrook and submitted by the band to the United States Patent and Trademark Office.

Stainbrook also said they agreed Staind would not play in the Ohio and Michigan areas, but found them backstage in Sterling Heights, Mich., and in Toledo where the band had gigs.

Stainbrook said wasn't able to talk to the band. He found the mark had indeed expired, either by Staind mistakenly or intentionally submitting an incorrect specimen (in this case, a story about a Cincinnati band called Stain).

And that's when the quandary began: Stainbrook's former attorney sent a letter to Rose seeking damages for what Stainbrook says were breaches of contract. According to the contract, if the mark is allowed to expire, the deal is void and the trademark rights revert back to Stainbrook.

Rose and his clients in turn filed against Stainbrook in the U.S. District Court of New York, but were denied when the judge dismissed it for a lack of personal jurisdiction.

Stainbrook filed claims with DeGidio that Staind made fraudulent statements to the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office. That's when the issue weaved its way to Toledo.

Staind filed again on Stainbrook's home turf and in the city where the initial contract was made. DeGidio and Stainbrook filed a countersuit denying the claims, and so the merry-go-round of litigation began.

"We're confident ... Stainbrook's attempt to cancel these marks and create a bunch of side show issues will all be rejected," Rose said.

DeGidio, on the other hand, counts off the possible punishments.

Staind might not endure should Stainbrook win, DeGidio said.

"How about they change their name to something like Stink," Stainbrook mused. "Or Stinkd."

The band formerly known as Staind, DeGidio joined in. "Now represented by a symbol."