The Disciple: A Wu-Tang Fable and 17 mins of 'Once Upon A Time In Shaolin'

[The Predator]

Doc about Cilvaringz, the Wu stan responsible for the Tang collab album we never heard 

The true story of an outsider whose relentless determination catapults him into the Wu-Tang Clan's inner circle, where ambition and creativity converge to record an album poised to ignite global controversy.

A 30 second clip of music from the album (Once Upon A Time In Shaolin) is played in the doc.

[The Predator]

The Disciple: A Wu-Tang Fable

Disciple: A Wu-Tang Fable Netflix Documentary Review



It's arguable that "The Disciple: A Wu-Tang Fable" intentionally feels like a side project rather than a full Wu-Tang Clan joint. After all, it's about one of the biggest "Wu-Tang Killa Bees," artists promoted by and affiliated with the Wu-Empire but not actual members of the Clan, usually artists encouraged and amplified by RZA. One of the most striking elements of Joanna Natasegara's film is how much it reveals that RZA was more than just the leader of a rap group; he's a visionary creator and producer, someone who's honestly invigorated by creative exploration.

The fact that one of those people emboldened by RZA, Cilvaringz (aka Tarik Azzourgarh), went from a Wu-Tang Clan fan to someone embroiled in one of the biggest music production stories in history is inherently interesting. But Natasegara's approach feels insular and too shallow to really illuminate this story beyond the details of what happened when.

Part of the problem is that Cilvaringz himself remains a bit of a cipher, joking in the film's best scene about how his ability to blow off severely traumatic events, including child sexual abuse, might mean he's a sociopath. There's a movie there: One about how you have to be a little crazy to make One Once Upon a Time in Shaolin. But Natasegara doesn't dig deep enough or place it in a broad enough context of how hip-hop and capitalism intersect. As a huge Wu-Tang Clan fan, I can't dismiss this great archival material entirely, but it's a B-side, not a smash hit.

Let's start with the end: Once Upon a Time in Shaolin. From 2007 to 2013, Cilvaringz and RZA produced what would officially become the seventh Wu-Tang Clan album, though reports conflict on whether the other Wu-Tang members thought they were making a group project or just featuring on Killa Bees songs. (It would become an issue in the Clan re: compensation, as it's understandably higher for a Wu album than it is for a guest spot or two.)

In 2015, RZA announced that Once Upon a Time in Shaolin would exist in only one form: a single copy sold with a clause stating it could not be released to the public for 88 years. The idea was to bring the concept of art back to music. There's only one Mona Lisa. There would be only one Once Upon a Time in Shaolin.

To say it backfired would be an understatement. Fans of a group don't love being told they can't afford to even hear a sample of an artist's work. It got worse when the winning bidder turned out to be one of the most hated men in the world: Martin Shkreli. One of the most interesting stretches of "The Disciple" details a backup plan to get Shaolin to the masses, but it would require a "bit" in which RZA would beat up Shkreli on camera, getting him to agree to sell copies directly to fans. Would people buy an album from someone they hated?

Shkreli himself screwed up this plan by amplifying the beef with the group, talking shit about RZA online as a lead-up to the "attack." Then he got arrested, and the government seized his assets, including Once Upon a Time in Shaolin. An NFT group called PleasrDAO now owns it, and they've been holding expensive listening parties I dream of attending.

While Shaolin is about half of "The Disciple," Natasegara spends much of the first half of the film on Azzougarh's background, starting with a story about a racist woman who sics her dogs on him as a child. These personal anecdotes circle back to how Azzougarh's unflappable commitment becomes both his greatest asset and his fatal flaw. The fact that he made it to a Wu-Tang show and got on stage—and that they have incredible footage of it—speaks to his ability to make his dreams come true. How many RZA fans get to travel the world with him, basically producing the group's biggest world tour?

And yet that same passion led to the historical oddity that is Shaolin, a Guinness record-holder (the most expensive album of all time) that no one can hear. To the film's credit, Cilvaringz seems unsure whether it succeeded or failed, and the music industry needs more ambitious ideas. A stronger argument is that everyone who made the Wu-Tang Clan world famous should hear every Wu-Tang Clan recording.

That's where Method Man seems to fall on the issue, but we only hear him in a few soundbites from 2010s interviews. He likely declined, but the limited focus on "The Disciple" becomes a noticeable flaw. We get a lot of Cilvaringz and a bit of other players like producers on Shaolin and fellow Killa Bee Shabazz the Disciple.

We hear more from RZA's Shaolin Monk BFF than from RZA himself, who seems to spout wisdom and play chess in black and white instead of really talking about Cilvaringz or Shaolin. Have any of the members changed their minds about Shaolin in the last decade? What does the hip-hop industry think of its production and the issues it raised about what consumers and artists owe each other?

If "The Disciple" doesn't ask or answer enough of these questions, it's still entertaining enough, especially for Wu-Tang fans. And it actually features about 10 seconds of Shaolin! The bad news? It sounds incredible.

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The Disciple: A Wu-Tang Fable review - Netflix doc on ‘secret album' is strictly for super fans

The lore of Once Upon a Time in Shaolin, once bought by Martin Shkreli, is explored in a rambling film produced by RZA



For every reason except one, Once Upon a Time in Shaolin, the seventh album by the Wu-Tang Clan, should've been a commercial hit. The 31-track double album, recorded in secret between 2007 and 2013, reunited all of the remaining members of the hallowed Staten Island rap crew and featured eye-catching collaborators from the standard (Redman, offshoot group Wu-Tang Killa Bees) to the unexpected (Cher, Game of Thrones actor Carice van Houten). The sound, at least according to those involved, harkened back to the glory days of the group's beginnings in the 90s.

But for years, almost no one heard it. The group only issued a single copy of Once Upon a Time in Shaolin - on CD, ensconced within layers of filigreed silver - with the stipulation, in legalese, that it could not be used for any commercial purposes for 88 years. The decree, either a stunt or a bold artistic statement on streaming's devaluation of music, depending on your generosity and perhaps your net worth, succeeded in drumming up plenty of hype. And if you were anywhere around the blogosphere or cable news in 2015, you may recall that the beneficiary of that hype - the purchaser and thus single intended listener of this $2m musical treasure - was one Martin Shkreli, the "pharma bro" widely despised for gleefully hiking the costs of prescription drugs for profit.

A baseline level of fluency in these occasionally arcane events is assumed, if not required, for The Disciple: A Wu-Tang Fable, a new documentary which retraces the long saga of the buzzy single album, which still holds the record for the most valuable album ever sold, and its controversial producer. The film, directed by Joanna Natasegara (who won the best documentary short Oscar in 2016 for The White Helmets) and executive produced by de facto Wu-Tang leader RZA, in fact goes much farther back than those covert recording sessions in the late 2000s; The Disciple, casual fans and Shkreli rubberneckers may be surprised to learn, is less a rehashing of the album's infamy than a subjective, meandering examination of its controversial producer, Tarik Azzougarh, the Dutch Moroccan rapper and Wu-Tang associate also known as Cilvaringz.

Azzougarh, who narrates much of the film built around his personal archive (the Disciple doubles as an evolution of digital self-recording, from camcorders to selfies), can be a compelling lead: an unnervingly even-keeled presence, at once well-connected and under-the-radar, who came to the Clan via unrelenting ambition, having connected to their music with fellow immigrant friends, as outsiders in largely white Holland. But centering the bulk of a 105-minute film around one somewhat reticent lead can also prove repetitive and dead-ending, extraneous digressions on the Clan's Hong Kong film references or tours around Staten Island notwithstanding.
close-up of man wearing glasses and grey suit

Natasegara banks on, and draws out, Azzougarh's fervent yet vaguely described obsession with Wu-Tang, particularly RZA, his eventual infiltration of their scene by phone and by simply showing up, his later entrenchment in RZA's inner circle. There's certainly something fascinating, at once hopeful and maybe sinister, in the ascendance of the self-described "fanboy" to the right-hand man. (See: last year's underrated film Lurker.) But with minimal input from other Wu-Tang members beyond vague recollections and niceties, there's little grist in what amounts to a slightly complicated and one-sided love letter to a genuinely formative, culture-shifting group. Though blessed by RZA, the leader only appears in archival footage or in ponderous grayscale interludes before a chess board, as if the relationship between mentor and subject were tricky and adversarial, not largely symbiotic.

Things pick up, at least, once the secret project gets going, bringing up artistic questions - why is a Warhol painting valued in the millions but not music? Why do people feel entitled to music for free? - and the practical matter of making one's money back. Azzougarh's idea to release but one CD, as the Mona Lisa of albums, was radical, but a multidimensional chess game this was not. As Cyrus Bozorgmehr, a seemingly bon vivant adviser to the album, recalls in the film, "buyers wanted to know what was hype, what was just a headline, what happened when you got to the nitty-gritty. And the answer was, we had no idea."

Shkreli, for those wondering, doesn't enter the story until the final third - the "poorest" of the potential buyers, one subject recalls, with a reported net worth of just $200m. There's probably some intriguing nugget here for those locked into the story - that Shkreli planned to film a video threatening Wu-Tang members with mock guns, for one - but The Disciple is not trying to generate clickbait or conflict.

It does not, however, generate much interest, either. The film gestures at many potentially fruitful deep dives - on the passage of time and the curdling of one's ambition, on the relationship between artist and fan, or just more simply the disputes over how to handle a true rogue like Shkreli - but largely does not wander, keeping viewers instead on the glossy surface or stranded in long-winded stories about parties. It's unclear, for instance, where Azzougarh and RZA stand now, though one can probably assume that both endorse the exhibitions now being held by PleasrDao, an NFT collective, who bought the album for $4.75m in 2021. For true fans - the ones who'd, say, fly to Tasmania to hear the album or be thrilled by a 30-second snippet in a documentary - there's plenty here to keep one's attention. For everyone else, it remains a crazy headline.

    The Disciple is out now in select US and UK cinemas and is streaming on Netflix

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I just listened to Wu-Tang Clan's Once Upon a Time in Shaolin. As music, it's good. As art, it's truly great

Thirty-minute mix from world's rarest album played at Mona in Tasmania, leaving listeners buzzing - and ‘a bit sad'



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.


When Once Upon a Time in Shaolin was announced in 2015, it came with a unique stipulation: whoever bought it would not be able to release it for 88 years, or 2103. At the time, Wu-Tang Clan's leader, RZA, called it a "big picture" statement on how music was undervalued, saying: "Limiting the album to one copy will not immediately reattach value to all recorded music, but the debate that our approach has sparked might eventually lead to a change in the perception, value and appreciation of music as a work of art and that is why we feel the sacrifice is worth it."

Other Wu-Tang members didn't agree - Method Man called the 88-year rule "stupid" - but, a decade on, it'd be hard to argue RZA was wrong. We now all understand that streaming leaves musicians with crumbs. And Once Upon a Time in Shaolin is undeniably a work of art.

And, like most art, it ended up in the hands of a rich guy. Martin Shkreli, the notorious "pharma bro", paid US$2m for Shaolin at its 2016 auction, telling a journalist: "There's a lot of things rich guys do to show off. The press thing is a part of it, but it's also to show your friends, or your last company, like, ‘Hey, fuck you, look at me, I got this $2m album.' Guys do that all the time."

Just a couple years later, Shkreli forfeited it to the feds after being convicted of securities fraud, which allowed PleasrDAO, an NFT collective, to buy it for US$4.75m in 2021, with the promise that it would find a way to share the music with the world. Which is how I ended up getting to hear it.

Which brings us to: the music. About 30 of us are ushered into Mona's recording studio, called the Frying Pan, where the sound of heavy rain thunders through the speakers. We are offered green tea. A PlayStation 1 sits in the middle of a table, solemnly symbolic: a music industry guy whisper-explains to me that PS1s are considered audiophile-grade CD players. We are about to hear a 30-minute mix put together especially for Mona by the Wu-Tang producer Cilvaringz.

"You ready for this?" a Mona employee says, and hits start on the controller.

Once Upon a Time in Shaolin is not as thrillingly in your face as the 1993 debut Enter the Wu-Tang, but it is easily as good as 1997's Wu-Tang Forever. It is also far more polished than both, and sounds great for it. There are all the hallmarks of the Wu-Tang sound: kung fu films, swords clashing, gunfire, police sirens. But there are also grand string sections, bombastic horns, even an electronic organ. It sounds different to any other Wu-Tang album but also reassuringly familiar. As always, they're self-aggrandising, filthy, funny: "I jerked off the sun like the day was mine" is one lyric that makes me choke on my tea.

It is hard to tell how many of the double album's 31 tracks we hear, but two stand out: Inspectah Deck rapping to a completely infectious Morricone beat and an energetic Redman track with spirited horn section. All the living members, to my ear, are on the 30-minute mix, which ends with a plaintive chant for the late Ol' Dirty Bastard: "I wish Dirty was here."

So as Wu-Tang Clan music goes, it's good. But as a work of art, Once Upon a Time in Shaolin is truly great. For much of the session, most people have their eyes closed, entirely focused on what they are hearing in that moment. It is such a stark contrast to how music is mostly listened to these days; a kind of muzak for our stressed brains, a means to block out the world around us. Albums have been filleted into singles, singles scattered among playlists. I think of RZA's manifesto, of all the monumental talent that fed into what we were hearing and I get it: yes, music does deserve better.

When the mix finishes we're all completely silent; it takes a Mona employee raising his eyebrows for us to remember where we are, to applaud while he ceremoniously deposits the CD in a safe, flanked by two security guards. As we file out I speak to a couple of Wu-Tang fans, who travelled from mainland Australia just for this. One young guy looks as though he's been belted over the head, visibly buzzing with pleasure. Another man, older, is melancholic. "It actually made me feel a bit sad," he says. "To know we will never hear it again."

Well, maybe. Shkreli, now out of prison, livestreamed tracks from the album on X days ago, just before Mona's first listening party. PleasrDAO is now suing him, with a Brooklyn judge putting a temporary ban on Shrkeli streaming or disseminating any copies he made of the album. PleasrDAO have since released a five-minute sample of the album online as a NFT, which you can buy, right now, for US$1. The Wu-Tang Clan profits from the NFTs, which goes some way to explain why this is allowed.

Each purchase brings the album's release date forward by 88 seconds. It'd take $28m to unlock it tomorrow. For the fans, I hope it comes out before I am 112. But the selfish part of me, the part that felt completely transformed by this as a work of art, secretly hopes we all wait.

[The Predator]

Listen to a 17 min cut of the album -

New 17 Minute Cut of Once Upon a Time in Shaolin

A while ago I uploaded a roughly 18 minute cut of Once Upon a Time in Shaolin I whipped up, but now with the new leaks from Martin Shkreli and the NFT company we have more content to go off of, and more knowledge of what's real and fake, so I've cut out the fake stuff (probably like half the material last time lol) and added all of the new higher quality and real stuff we have.
     Entrance (Intro) - From Shkreli's 2016 livestream

  The Magnificent Butchers - Partially from Shkreli's 2016, added a proper instrumental lead in and out for padding

    Stone Him! - Partially from the NFT company's 5 min sample thing in high quality, with instrumental lead in and out added

    Swords Stained with Royal Blood - Fully from the NFT company's 5 min sample thing

    Flowers Blossoming - Title may not be correct. Partially from the NFT company's 5 min sample thing in high quality, with proper instrumental lead in and out added

    Hail, Snow & Earthquakes - Full song from Shkreli's 2024 livestream

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This is my newest version of Once Upon a Time in Shaolin by the Wu-Tang Clan. This record only has one copy, and had a few snippets released by its former owner years back, along with some that turned out to likely be fake, so I made a big mix of it to try and replicate the experience. Now, it's new owner has released even more snippets directly that we know are real, so I've trimmed out the fake stuff of the old version and added new high quality audio along with proper instrumental padding and kept the properly sourced old audio to make this the most authentic and good sounding album experience for people who wanna listen to the album without going to Tasmania. Song 5-6 titles are made up by me because I don't know the actual song titles.


    1 ·
    Entrance (Intro)

    2 ·
    The Magnificent Butchers

    3 ·
    Stone Him!

    4 ·
    99 Cycling Swords

    5 ·
    Stone Finger

    6 ·
    The Weeping Tiger

    7 ·
    Brother Jozef

    8 ·
    The Ninja

    9 ·
    Hail, Snow & Earthquakes

    10 ·
    The Eighty Eight Soul Babies

    11 ·
    Flowers Blossoming

    12 ·
    Swords Stained with Royal Blood
   

Here it is on soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/samantha-adams-247385809/sets/once-upon-a-time-in-shaolin