This waiver I’m signing says it is binding until the day I die or the year 2103 – whichever comes first. I’ll be 112 years old in 2103 or (more likely) very dead. Who knows if anyone will still be talking about Wu-Tang Clan then, or what state Once Upon a Time in Shaolin will even be in by 2103. The album exists in a sole physical copy and that’s a CD – will any one other than antique dealers even have CD players then? In any case, I’ll make sure not to slip up at age 111.
I must sign (and I’m rigorously frisked) to ensure I have no plans to make a covert recording of what happens next, as I enter Tasmania’s Museum of Old and New Art. This is where Once Upon a Time in Shaolin will be for the next week as part of the gallery’s new exhibition, Namedropping, examining status, celebrity, scarcity and notoriety. Once Upon a Time in Shaolin fulfils on all counts: a never-before released album by a generational-defining group, that exists as a single copy in an ornate silver box and sold for millions. About 9% of the 500 people who will get to hear it at Mona are travelling from overseas; the gallery closed the waiting list when it reached 5,000 people.
