The mashups were released by the fictitious band "The Beachles," as part of a notional album called Sgt. Petsounds, and they were a kind of noise-rock experiment in mixing up the two seminal albums (both albums are known for their own use of "found sound" and mashup techniques).  

From Clayton Counts, the unfortunate fellow being sued:

  If you care at all about freedom of thought, freedom of expression, or your digital rights, please take the time to write letters to any and every news outlet regarding this case. It’s never too late to show these guys what we’re made of, and we’re just getting started!

  I have received a cease and desist order from EMI’s legal team, and it really (as in: not joking) sounds like they want to torture me to death in some dungeon. I hope Paul and Brian come to my rescue now, ’cause I haven’t got a dime for these guys to take. I’ve been struggling as an artist for years, putting most of what little money I’ve had into recording my own music. The Beachles are still out there, though. If you want to break the law, check ‘em out. They’ve threatened to sue me big time.

  And for what? For making something? So others would look at them as inhuman monsters, utterly incapable of recognizing art? Or is it just the distribution? Nope… all three. Or so it would seem. I shouldn’t have even made  it, they claim. And they want me to give up people’s IPs. That much I can tell you because of some legal humfuddery I dreamt up, but also (and more importantly) because I have a conscience. After all, would any of you want to be sued for following a link from Entertainment Weekly ? For the record, I never sold a single copy of this piece of art—if it is  art. Fair use, in your face, come and get me. You can not take my life, Capitol Recordings. Unless you do. Could happen. I wouldn’t put it past you.

  Would any of you want to be investigated for streaming one of these songs from a blog or website? Even if you never visited this  site? Because EMI’s attorneys, in no uncertain terms, are saying that they want ALL information regarding ANY and ALL persons who, knowingly or elseways, downlaoded or streamed this media. Forget about your rights, because they don’t exist. Even if you just accidentally clicked a link to a streamable MP3, they want your name, your address, everything that I might have to give to them. I have already told them once, but I’m now telling them again, on the record, to get bent. This isn’t their Universe anymore, and even if no one else will stand with me against the corporate ogres, I will fight this battle ’til my dying breath, stabbing, perhaps ineffectually, at the stinking feet of their unthinkable contemptuousness. They’ve picked on the wrong guy this time. I’m a Leo, but I ain’t so cowardly. Rawr!

  But another thing is: what’s it worth to them? The distribution of this mutant offspring in no way detrimentally affected the sales of the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Go-Gos, Gary Numan, or any number of the huge list of other Kapital artists whose work, as you all know, was used for material on this website. If anything, it’s boosted sales… people couldn’t wait to hear the originals after listening to the Beachles! I bought all of the material I used; probably the sixth or seventh time I’ve owned Sgt. Pepper’s  on disc, since CDs, as we all know, provide a lifetime of listening enjoyment, and possibly the fifth or sixth time for Pet Sounds.

  And frankly, just who in the Hell do you think you are to say what’s allowed to be made? You pump the slurry of incompetence down the sputtering, overstuffed chullet of your little mass consumerism Worldwide Freak Police Deadly Gangster Frankenstein Computer God Communism slave-machine every single day. It is you, sirs and madams, who deserve to be sued, or tried and hung, by every single one of them, for making them settle for trash for so very long. You rob them of their dreams and identities every day, O Faceless One, you disappoint them, and truly you are unashamed. You are incapable of having a heart, and that is why you could never be human. C’est la vie. You are who and what you are, and nothing will ever change that. I could never envy you soulless bastards.

  Again, who are you to tell me what I can do with my free time? Are you THOUGHT NAZIS?! Sure the FUCK seems like it to me. And to plenty of other people, too. I’ll bet you couldn’t get it up in high school, EMI. Maybe the truth is: I’m some kind of MUSICAL TERRORIST. I know that you will try to characterize me as such, but your efforts will only serve to make the bloated and disfigured countenance of your dismal charade seem that much less ambrosial to small-town folk like me. Do You feast on the bones of children? Do You mindlessly imbibe their retch as they do Yours? You have poisoned the well, and now are made to drink from it. This is  You. It was You who destroyed my dreams, but for now I rule the Day, and I’m bigger than the Beachles ever were. Suck on that.

  We’re at War. You know: Iraq. Things suck right now, all over the World, because of nescient fatcats like You. This whole culture war is Your doing, too. You’re the reason smart people hate you. You phonies. You lusus naturae. You don’t care about artists and art… You only give a fuck about the bottom line of the balance sheet, and You’ve doubtlessly never experienced the thrill of creating something, even if it was scrapped together haphazardly out of something else. It’s gratifying.

  You’re a lot of crybaby nobodies, just like all of those dying crybaby somebodies you bilk around the World, every day, day in and day out, sucking them dry of their meager wealth and their dignity, stealing from them any chance to succeed as thinkers, doers, and makers. But mostly just underhandedly exploiting their weaknesses and giving back very little. I demand that you hang your heads in shame. Because of this stunt of mine, some teenagers may actually BUY your shitty 40th anniversary repackaging of Pet Sounds. The only way this could be bad for business is if you also happened to own the rights to the Beachles’ record, which you don’t. My effing mind does. Try to take that  away, Big Shots.

  You should be ashamed, sirs, for accepting one form of art and not another. You made me listen to shitty records all through junior high, and now I’m finally reclaiming a bit of my own integrity. FUCK Crowded House. And oh my God, I almost forgot… Sheena Fucking Easton. Jesus Christ, my skin’s crawling. Daily, you “people” force-feed innocent children your vomitous noise pollution, and then you expect for them to grow up normal? I’m a reflection of you. But I’ll always love the Beatles and the Beach Boys. Who wouldn’t? You’ll never get me alive, Copper!

  If you want for me to take this message off of my website, drop the charges. If you want for me to reimburse you for your “losses,” give me a better record deal than the ones I’ve turned down this week. It’ll be much better publicity than suing a starving artist over one of the stupidest, funniest minor success stories of the year. If you want to talk about sports, get bent. But if you want to settle this over a game of Scrabble and some drunken arm wrestling, I’m game. I will clean the floor with your lily-white asses. Ofay motherfuckers. Let’s do this thing! I mean it!

  They say their email is confidential, but it’s deliciously hateful, some of it even sarcastic. I’d like to see how legally binding it really is, but I’m not that brave. If you want juicy highlights, though, get in touch. For legal reasons, I’m not going to provide a link to my email address here, so you’ll just have to think of something. And you’ll probably have to be someone I’ve known for years. The greed is almost sexual in nature. Very disturbing. I just hope I come out of this alive. And with all of my toenails.

  Well, I guess I’m an outlaw now. And a word to anyone who disagrees: if I refuse to pay them any money, or to turn myself in, an outlaw’s what I am. They’ll have to come and get me, which is easier said than done. That line was written with tongue firmly in-cheek, but I would gladly do prison time as a show of civil disobedience. I won’t make it any easier for them, however. Believe it or not, I’m doing this for people like you—for people like everyone. I’m doing it for the dead people being sued by the RIAA, and the Grandmas who’ve never heard of Britney Spears, but who are nonetheless victims of a vicious rape-machine that is designed specifically to take, to absorb, to deceive and to extort, but never to feel. I’m doing it for all of us. Most people wouldn’t have the guts to say what I’m saying now. When’s the last time a DJ took a stand against these bastards?! The bloodsucking pirates! The insatiable mongrels!

  And you may think that I’m a bit of a bastard myself. I’m not, really, but some of you are bound to feel that way. Still, is EMI right  to sue any of us for having a good time? As mentioned before this page was preempted, no matter who you are, I’m your friend for life. I would gladly stick my neck out for any one of you who cares about little things like digital rights. And just so you know, I would hope that you’d do the same for me. Otherwise, we’d all roll over and do little tricks for these guys, and do they deserve it? What have they  done in the name of art? Except to punish those who enjoy it? And promote a vastitude of sameness? LIES!

  I have no idea what I’ll do next, but it’ll probably be from a prison cell somewhere. Thanks for listening. We love to see you smile.

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