Later this year, Wu-Tang Clan will release a single copy of a new album. The album will tour museums and festivals, and then it will be sold for the owner to give away or keep or donate or whatever they want. It’s a neat idea, almost shockingly obvious in retrospect, and I’m curious to see how it works out.
According to RZA and the album’s main producer Tarik “Cilvaringz” Azzougarh, a Morocco-based part of Wu-Tang’s extended family, the plan is to first take Once Upon A Time In Shaolin on a “tour” through museums, galleries, festivals and the like. Just like a high-profile exhibit at a major institution, there will be a cost to attend, likely in the $30-$50 range.
Visitors will go through heavy security to ensure that recording devices aren’t smuggled in; as an extra precaution, they’ll likely have to listen to the 128-minute album’s 31 songs on headphones provided by the venue. As Cilvaringz puts it: “One leak of this thing nullifies the entire concept.”
And then there’s the 10,500 words Amos Barshad wrote about Wu-Tang Clan for Grantland. Barshad spent months tracking down and talking to each individual member resulting in a #longread worthy profile of the group. I wouldn’t have called Cappadonna the 10th member of Wu-Tang Clan like Barshad did, but what are you gonna do?
For several months, I chased down and spent time with all 10 members of the Wu-Tang Clan,2 winding my way from Brooklyn to New Jersey to Tennessee to Arizona to — of course — Shaolin in the process. It was, for the most part, maddening. As a fan, I was happy to find that a certain anarchic spirit is still rooted deep within the Wu. As a reporter, I wondered how many more unanswered calls would bring me within the legal definition of stalking. It was surreal, in the best way possible.