Record Companies Try to Safeguard Advance Copies

Keeping the wraps on hot albums before their official release has long been a problem for record companies, but the advent of the Internet has ratcheted up the stakes by creating an instant and vast market for pilfered music. Check out auction sites on the Internet and you will often find advance copies of albums being sold for five or even 10 times the price of a store-bought CD.

So it’s no surprise that some recent big-name albums were guarded like state secrets on the eve of their debuts.

The intense hunger for “The Fragile,” the first Nine Inch Nails album in five years, prompted Nothing Records to skip the industry’s usual practice of sending out dozens or even hundreds of copies to journalists far in advance to ensure timely reviews. Instead, Interscope, Nothing’s distributor, sent out early copies to only six writers, and each was asked to sign a pledge to hold onto their coveted copy.

Similarly, the new Alan Jackson album was delivered to journalists with a notice that each advance copy is numbered and logged, and a stern warning reminds them to keep their copy to themselves. Journalists aren’t the only ones who receive the early copies--record company employees, publicists, radio types, retailers and others are also responsible for the glut of albums marked “Advance Copy--Not for Sale” that pop up in used-CD shops and on EBay, the online auction house.

“For the real fans, there’s tremendous cachet to hearing an exciting new album before it comes out,” says Pete Howard, editor of ICE, a newsletter that caters to audiophiles and music collectors. “It’s nothing new. Either the advance cassettes in the 1970s or digital download in the 1990s, there’s nothing like hearing it early. . . . And there’s fans that will pay $100 for a complete copy before its street date.”

How bad is it if the advance gets out early? It’s hard to say. Some observers contend that the die-hard fans who will pay $100 for an early copy of, say, the new U2 album will also go out and buy the general issue version--which would have cover art, liner notes and other elements missing from the advance--when it becomes available.

But others say the advent of digital download lets the genie out of the bottle--instead of a handful of CDs going out to the black market, suddenly there’s the potential for thousands of fans to buy the pilfered album with the click of a mouse.

That was the worry of rapper Nas, who quickly added extra tracks--and, he hoped, added value--to his most recent album when a stolen copy was posted online on the eve of its release.

Nas’ album still debuted strong in stores, but that hasn’t completely eased the mind of industry leaders.

In April, an advance copy of Jordan Knight’s self-titled album was listed in an EBay auction as being sold for a jaw-dropping $430, a month before its release. That may explain why Knight’s label, Interscope, has copies of Dr. Dre’s upcoming album tucked away in a vault.

MIXED VIBRATIONS: The sunshine glare of fame and talent have often been unkind to Brian Wilson, so longtime fans who will watch him step onto two Southern California stages this weekend for a pair of rare performances may find themselves growing teary with nostalgia and empathy for the revered, troubled musician.

For the Beach Boys auteur, however, playing his first full solo concert in the region he helped define in song presents a different concern. “I’m just hoping,” he said recently, “that I don’t see any of my ex-girlfriends when I look out in the crowd.”

Next year will mark the 40th anniversary of the Beach Boys, but Wilson’s recharged solo career may mark a more meaningful milestone in the seminal band’s winding story line. After years as a recluse dogged by addictions, emotional breakdowns, illnesses and family tragedy, the man who wrote some of the rock era’s most optimistic music is finally feeling pretty good himself.

“Playing L.A. is going to be very special for me, you know, it’s my hometown,” the 57-year-old Wilson said, as if anyone could be unaware of his roots. “Yes, very special.”

Wilson’s shows this weekend (Saturday at the Wiltern Theatre, tonight at the appropriately named Sun Theatre in Anaheim) come at a time when the venerable Beach Boys franchise is fractured and sailing into uncertain waters.

After the death of Carl Wilson in 1998, the three surviving founding members--Brian Wilson, Al Jardine and Mike Love--have gone their own ways, and the separation has not been a completely smooth one. Jardine’s creation of a group called the Beach Boys Family & Friends (which includes Brian Wilson’s daughters, Carnie and Wendy Wilson) has led to unresolved legal wranglings with Love, who still tours under the Beach Boys banner. The crux of the conflict is who is entitled to the franchise’s famed name.

Love’s outfit plays all the hits on stage, while Jardine’s enterprise is exploring some of the lesser-known corners of the band’s prodigious catalog.

The three have not spoken since Carl Wilson’s death, according to Jardine and Wilson, but they have spent too much time together to be indifferent about one another’s music. Jardine (who declined to discuss any dealings with Love) said he plans to attend one of Wilson’s solo shows.

“It used to be that getting him to perform live was like pulling teeth,” Jardine said. “This will be a different Brian Wilson than I’m accustomed to seeing. He must have overcome some of his inner demons.”

What about Wilson? Would he like to sneak into the back of a dark music hall to hear either Jardine or Love sing the old songs about joyful days and youthful abandon? “That would be a trip. To hear ‘California Girls’ or ‘Barbara Ann.’ . . . I’d like it a lot,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added: “But, you know, I don’t know if I want to get into all of that.”

A TRULY CUSTOM CD: British pop singer Momus’ peculiar brand of music--melodic, oblique songs of misanthropic commentary--has earned some great reviews in recent years, but not everybody is a fan of the odd, eye-patch-wearing songwriter. In fact, his recorded references to another musician, synthesizer pioneer Wendy Carlos, got him sued last year. “I can’t talk about that,” he said. “But New York lawyers are not cheap.”

Those legal fees prompted the singer, whose real name is Nick Currie, to hatch an unusual project, following the lead of Rembrandt and other artists from the age of patronage who created portraits for a fee. The result is his new album “Stars Forever,” in which Momus sings 30 songs he’s written about people or groups, charging the subjects $1,000 each for the honor. The songs are devoted to 22 individuals (including artist Jeff Koons and Japanese pop star Cornelius), one band (the Minus 5, which features R.E.M.’s Peter Buck) and seven companies or associations.

Was it hard for Momus--who based his ditties on biographical information supplied by his patrons--to craft songs about subjects as varied as a shy Japanese teenager and a New York record store?

“My job was to be a journalist so much, it was to sift through their descriptions of themselves and then imagine them over again, to make them more legendary,” says the singer, who performs at the Troubadour on Nov. 9. “It was not so hard finding people with checks, but it was hard finding out who they really are.”