Inside a delicately hand-carved silver box on display in an Australian museum lies the world’s most exclusive, valuable, and perhaps infamous album.
This weekend, I became one of the fortunate few on the planet to hear it.
Recorded in secret over six years by the pioneering hip-hop group Wu-Tang Clan, “Once Upon a Time in Shaolin” was conceived as a piece of fine art.
Only a single CD copy exists, accompanied by a legal stipulation that prevents the owner from publicly releasing its 31 tracks until 2103.
The album, featuring the nine surviving members of the group, is currently on loan to Tasmania’s Museum of Old and New Art (Mona), a gallery renowned for its headline-catching art, often dubbed Australia’s “Temple of Weird.”
First conceived during the pandemic, Mona’s new exhibition, Namedropping, explores why humans chase status and notoriety. At the top of lead curator Jarrad Rawlins’ wish list for the exhibition was this album.
“If I’m completely honest, it started as a fantasy… we were in a meeting, and I just said, ‘We should get that Wu-Tang CD,’ and everyone went, ‘Yeah. Lol,’” he says.
After years of negotiation, fans from around the globe have now flocked to Mona to hear a 36-minute sample of the album, curated especially by Wu-Tang Clan producer Cilvaringz.
What can the few dozen people who scored tickets to the uber-exclusive listening parties expect? Mr. Rawlins teases a Cher cameo – his favorite bit – but otherwise remains tight-lipped.
“The more we know about this album, and the more people out there know, the less magical it becomes,” he insists.
“I think the fans are as excited about not being able to hear it… as they are about being able to hear it.”
Somewhat ironically, the week Namedropping opens, news breaks that the company loaning the album is suing its previous owner – disgraced “pharma bro” Martin Shkreli – for allegedly making digital copies.
Shkreli was forced to hand over the album to US prosecutors in 2018, three years after purchasing it, following his conviction for defrauding investors.
It was subsequently bought by digital art collective Pleasr for a rumored $4 million (A$6 million; £3.2 million), a value they’re trying to preserve by making Shkreli destroy his bootleg files.
Since 2015, fans have heard snippets of the mysterious music – from potential buyers treated to a 13-minute segment when it was first released, to the handful of times Shkreli streamed scraps on YouTube, and now a five-minute clip available to the public for a single dollar.
But never this much of it.
As I queue up for my listening session, a contract demanding that I don’t record it is thrust into my hands.
“Your obligations under this agreement start on your entry to Once Upon a Time in Shaolin and continue for the remainder of your life or until 2103, whichever occurs first,” it reads.
Upon reaching Mona’s Frying Pan Studio, I realize the jokes about metal detectors are not jokes at all.
One by one, we’re asked to remove our coats, ditch our bags, and empty our pockets before being diligently scanned.