Saturday nights are special.

They’re consistently my only true night of the week to do exactly what I want. These carefree nights can happen, in theory, on any night, but Saturdays are when they happen most often, with the fewest consequences. Fridays also used to be like that — remember Friday nights? Unfortunately, the weight and stress of the workweek typically rears its head around 8:30 p.m. on said Friday, causing the body to crave a night of Blu-ray and Chill, regardless of whether you obey your body’s wishes.

I say all this because I care about what manifests on my Saturday nights. Which is why this past Saturday was notable, because I acted very out of character. As in, I left Brooklyn at 6:30 p.m., en route to Newark, New Jersey. And I did this act of self-treason alone. And I did this for work, to cover a concert. And I did this alone, for work, to cover a concert by Korean pop boy band BigBang, a group from which I had heard only one song prior to my trip, and that song I had heard only twice, and I wasn’t even convinced I liked it.

The assignment self-haze is a part of my occupational DNA. I’m no stranger to it, for it also takes me to amazingly dark places that result in occasionally fun pieces for a reader who lucked out by not being the one who trolled themselves.

My approach to Newark’s Prudential Center was by car. And as the car got closer, I realized that I was surrounded by fewer and fewer normal cars. To the front, to the back, and immediately to the right of me, limousines. SUV-size limosines. I felt like a chemistry teacher tailing drunk students to senior prom. What should have been horror in this realization actually begat humor. It was clear I was about to walk into a madhouse. When I got out of the car and attempted to find will call, all I could do was find new lines of people. And each line was long, but none was the line I needed. Sometimes, as I got closer to another line of people — people who always looked younger than me, but weren’t always “young” — I would occasionally hear English being spoken. Typically, however, I didn’t. Because I knew this was a boy band, I expected the gender split to be about 90 percent female, 10 percent male. From what I’d seen, however, it was pretty close to 50-50. There was an excitement in the lines, but also a panic. Because this show was set to start at 8:00, it was 7:50, and there were probably a thousand people outside.

Will call was a poorly marked door. And for some reason no one was going into this door, but a long line was positioned in front of it, waiting in the general admission line. Feeling the rush of adulthood and an obnoxious “I don’t wait in lines”–ness come over me, I walked right to that door, opened it, and confidently walked in. About 50 kids in line followed me, which caused mayhem inside. I turned around and gave the security lady an apology shrug as I went to get my ticket.

By the time I’d entered, it was 8:05. I was told the show was starting exactly at eight, but its running late was welcome and not surprising. I needed a drink, and maybe two, and was happy to learn there was zero line for every alcohol kiosk in the arena, because teens. As I paid for my two very cold tallboys, I heard the first arena-wide shriek. It was showtime. Turning to look for a stairwell, I was almost knocked over by a crew of eight teens racing to their seats. Their faces weren’t filled with joy but with terror — the terror of missing a second of BigBang.

I felt bad for them but even worse for the hundreds of people still outside. Who knew when they were going to get in?

When I asked a guard how to get to my seat, I was told to find the escalator. But I couldn’t find it, so I took the stairs — which led me to the wrong floor, which was probably why she told me to take the escalator. As I stood on the wrong floor, however, I had a balcony-like vantage point on the entrance, which was an ebb and flow of people racing to their seats, screaming at the air. It was incredible.

And then, just like that, a second arena-wide scream. It must have been song two. I needed to get to my seat — I didn’t come out to Newark to miss a concert, after all.

When I made it up to the third level and walked into the arena, very little made sense.

The lights were mostly up, the room was half full, and, most importantly, no one was onstage. There was a music video playing and people were singing to it, but that didn’t add up to the insanity I heard as I wandered the halls of the Prudential Center.

Two minutes later, when that music video ended, it all made sense. Another music video started and the place erupted, as if the five BigBang members were actually onstage. This increasingly filled room was freaking out over very large music videos. Because of course they were. Because this was a boy band, after all, and that’s what happens. It was almost as if I didn’t grow up on TRL and witness what happened when Brian and Kevin would walk up to the glass three floors up from the street and just look down, causing teens to scream, and then cry, and then faint.

This was becoming a salvageable Saturday night. Five more music videos played, and each time, the reaction was the same when the music video began, but each time louder because by the fifth video, general admission was packed and the available seats were nearly filled.

When the lights finally dimmed, they — we — were ready. It’s rare to find you’re in the middle of a phenomenon but have no idea what it is. Suddenly, it was pitch-black, and everyone down below had some sort of light source that they were ready to wave. And then the strobe lights appeared, followed by some second cousin of “Zombie Nation,” which I later learned was just BigBang’s first song of the evening, “Bang Bang Bang.”

Sitting there in awe for the next five minutes, I couldn’t get over the song, their live spectacle, their moves, the crowd, and the overall eccentricities of each member.

♦♦♦

BigBang is made up of five members: T.O.P., Taeyang, Daesung, Seungri, and G-Dragon. All five are in their twenties, so none are actually boys. And you can tell that when you watch them perform, because they very much have the confidence of adults. But not in the “let me shed my boyish innocence” way (which would pertain to them, since they’ve been a unit since 2006). More in the “we’re fly, and we know that because we’ve been told that by little girls, grown women, little boys, and grown men, the end” sense. As a group, they have found a sizable amount of success, winning awards in Korea, Japan, and throughout Europe. In the United States, G-Dragon has had the most crossover appeal, but throughout Asia all five have found success beyond BigBang, be it in music, acting, or as personalities.

As BigBang, all five can sing, all five can dance, and a few (most notably, T.O.P. and G-Dragon) rap. And they do all of these things very well.

Three songs into the show, I was completely sold on BigBang. And I had 16 songs left. But as my interest increased, it wasn’t really because of the songs (only a few words throughout this show were in English, just to give some idea of how good things have to be when you don’t know what is being said at you). To put in plainly, it’s because they are the perfect boy band for 2015.

When it comes to boy bands, there are rules. And certain rules can never be broken, even if they are highly inefficient. One of those rules is that each member of the band gets a moment. Obviously, some bands have true stars and what ends up shaking out is a lead member and backup singers, but at some point, even the lowest member of the boy band totem pole gets some moment to do something. And not because of fairness for him — because even that last guy is someone’s favorite.

And that fan paid good money to see their favorite have a moment in the sun.

BigBang followed these rules, almost to a fault. On three occasions during the concert, a good 10 minutes was dedicated to each member walking up to the front of the stage, with the other four looking on, and giving the crowd similar prompts.

“How are you, New Jerz?”

“I Love Jerz.”

“Make Some Noise”

“I Love Your Energy”

“You Give Us Energy”

“Jerz”

Even by the fifth iteration of this, the fans did not tire. And that’s because BigBang is at equal strength at each position. It’s terrifying how good each member is. It’s like the ’92 Dream Team starting five, but with unlimited R1 turbo.

When you watch it for the first time, you want to immediately think of the Backstreet Boys or ’N Sync or Boyz II Men or New Kids on the Block or New Edition, but none is the right comparison.

If BigBang has one evolutionary ancestor, it’s most certainly the Floaters.

You see, the Floaters are not the greatest boy band/man group of all time, but “Float On” might be the most beautiful creation a group of four to five boy-men with equal talent have ever made. It’s a simple song, with each member getting a verse of equal length, with the “Float, Float On” hook between each. But as each begins his verse, he alerts the world to his astrological sign, followed by his name, followed by what he offers the world (and how he wants to take you to Love Land).

First, Ralph.

Aquarius and my name is Ralph
Now I like a woman who loves her freedom
And I like a woman who can hold her own
And if you fit that description, baby, come with me
Take my hand, come with me, baby, to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing love with me, I want you to

Second, Charles

Libra and my name is Charles
Now I like a woman that’s quiet
A woman who carries herself
Like Miss Universe
A woman who would take me in her arms
And she would say, Charles, yeah
And if you fit that description
This is for you especially

Third, Paul.

Leo and my name is Paul
You see I like all women of the world
You see to me all women are wild flowers
And if you understand what I’m sayin’
I want you to
Mmm, take my hand
Come with me, baby, to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing love with me, I want you to

The first three are great. And some people’s person is Paul or Charles or Ralph. I know this because I have aunts. The fourth verse, however, while not enough to overwhelm the other three, is admittedly a standout.

It’s Larry.

Cancer and my name is Larry, huh
And I like a woman
That loves everything and everybody
Because I love everybody and everything
And you know what, ladies,
If you feel that this is you
Then this is what I want you to do
Ooh, yeah, take my hand
Let me take you to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing your love with Larry, listen

To be fair, G-Dragon is probably Larry from the Floaters. But in the same way Paul, Ralph, and Charles are also beloved and not far behind (and the favorites of many in their own right), so are T.O.P. and Taeyang and Daesung and Seungri. I know this because I watched and listened to the individualized screams from their constituencies, whenever it was their time to make a statement, rap a verse, do a dance move, be the center of attention.

This equal spread of adoration and talent and style that BigBang has is what makes them a great boy band. But what makes their presence perfect in this moment is that they buck one of the main tenets of boy band-dom: the crutch that is choreography.

Let it be known: BigBang certainly has choreography. And when they do it, it is clean and sharp and very appreciated. But when BigBang really gets going on a song, they are not front and center, doing the same moves. They are covering surface area, doing their own moves, dripping with their own concoction of indivudualized swagger, each living his best life off in his own corner of the stage.

It was truly a sight to see — a boy band that in reality is a supergroup. In one song, you have G-Dragon doing the nae-nae, T.O.P. calmly standing with his cane holding court, Taeyang running up a catwalk in a manic way, Daesung jumping up and down, and Seungri off doing moves with the background dancers. Whichever caught your eye, you were suddenly looking at the coolest guy in the room and the most talented guy in the band. Watching it, I understood why their audience was made up of people who could only dream of being them or being with them. And as they went through their catalogue, doing both group BigBang songs and solo numbers, hopping from rap to R&B to pop to EDM to dubstep to a country-esque ditty to a song that I swear could be the no. 1 Christian rock song in history (“Wings,” the solo song by Daesung), they found a way to be everything. They found a way to make it seem like Drake, Usher, Katy Perry, and Taylor Swift concerts all in one night. It was quite a sight to behold.

As I walked out of the show, I didn’t know what to do. Standing with a group of friends and fellow music writers, I began to word vomit excitement. As I spoke, one response to my excitement was this:

If you think they’re good, you also have to hear the new BigBang, Teen Top.

I was disgusted. I didn’t want to hear that. I wasn’t ready to “explore the genre” right now. I was #BigBangHive now, and I wanted nothing more than to embrace this moment, this show, these men, this perfect Saturday night.

I have this friend named Felipe.

He’s a great man. A strong man. A smart man. And at his most indifferent, still a life of the party. Someone who can be sitting on a couch for two hours, hear a song he likes, walk onto the dance floor, dance to two songs — thereby changing the tone of the entire evening for many present — and then go sit back down and chill.

When I run into Felipe at night, and we’re both out, and there’s music playing, and there’s a dance floor, and a certain song comes on, and there’s something resembling a circle — or really any empty space with scattered humans — I know he’s going to get after it, which gives me full clearance to get after it.

It’s unclear if either of us has any dance moves, in the literal sense. But in the moment, when all of those late-night planets align, there are few people who dance better than Felipe. And in that same moment, one of the few people present who can match him — in my head — is me. And as I look around — again, in this moment — the assortment of goony friends I arrived with or knew would be present are also dance-peaking, doing their own hyper-personalized creations, existing always on beat, filled to the brim with confidence in their movements, feeling spectacular.

Twenty seconds into watching the video for “Hotline Bling” by Aubrey Drake Graham, the first thing I thought was, Oh wow, that’s Felipe. And then I kept watching and was like, Oh shit, that’s Matt. And then I kept watching and thought, Oh Lord, that’s me.

It’s a great video in the sense that he pulls off dancing the way one would in a crowded setting — your vulnerabilities calmed by the crew that surrounds you that is also doing their own version of dancing — by his lonesome.

The first “Internet opinion” I saw about the video prompted me to click in order to see “silly Drake dancing.” I clicked on the video but, oddly enough, saw nothing silly. There’s nothing silly about the dancing in “Hotline Bling.” This is just dancing. Riddle me this, author of Internet opinion, what else is someone supposed to do to this song while listening to “Hotline Bling” and existing in a James Turrell biodome?

Every single move that emanates from Drake’s gray one-size-fits-all ensemble is arguably the only thing that is supposed to be happening. That slow, crouched-over thing he did to “you used to, you used to” — yes. That side-to-side heel-toe later in the video — of course. Those occasional slow-motion movements — I mean, have you ever listened to music while standing up? That Chris Tucker as Michael Jackson head and arms and neck thing — OBVIOUSLY.

What your are witnessing is Yung Aubrey Bautista absolutely feeling himself, a concept that should not be met with any negative connotations. With that said, that also has very little to do with actual quality. The idea of feeling yourself does not necessarily imply that the dance moves are great. Feeling yourself is simply when you could not be any more a fan of yourself and how you look and what you are doing and, in turn, what you are giving to the world in that moment.

It’s that feeling when you start dancing, and then stumble on a move, and then really like that move. When this happens, chances are you’re going to dig into it more and more with each sidestep. Each time, a little more knee bend. A little more head nod. A little more sass. A little more attitude. A little more goddamn. These aren’t theoretical concepts, these are actual facts of life.

In this video, you’re seeing the confidence of someone who’s been going to the same bar every other weekend for three years. It’s post-posturing. It’s when you show up in sweats at 1 a.m. because you can. It’s how you dance when a public space becomes your living room. You’re beyond needing to impress strangers, because you’re not the stranger — everyone else is.

Very few of us have the talents of a Chris Brown or Usher or Ciara or Beyoncé. If your dancing skills resemble these people, by all means be a superior mover and distance yourself from the world by any and all means necessary. But contrary to popular belief, the next level on the rung down from “really good dancer” isn’t a “pretty good dancer.” Because there’s nothing worse than a “pretty good dancer.” Because the hallmark trait of a “pretty good dancer” is “someone who is actively trying to be a really good dancer yet isn’t.” And that person is the worst (and if you don’t know this to be true, that person is you). If you aren’t an amazing dancer, the next-best thing is to be an on-beat dancer whose moves create a blissfully irrational confidence in self. Dancing in a way that is often ridiculous, never threatening, and increasingly makes you feel fly-er than the song before.

A less obvious reason this video is startling — beyond the dancing, and the lights, and the REI turtleneck — is that on Drake’s end, we actually see him, unedited, for long periods of time. Music video editing can make the most uncomfortable, near-pubescent artist seem exceedingly cool. If you look at Drake videos from years past, a constant is a patchwork of short clips filled with rapper bravado that are cut and pasted together to form a cocky rapper. You’d typically see him do one or two motions, and then a quick cut, and then he’s somewhere else, doing something else slightly cool, and then another cut and — poof — he’s either back to the former place or a third location, doing something else that some people characterize as cool.

This isn’t Drake-specific. Music video directors are magicians in making all artists look more interesting than they are. In Drake’s past, much of his dorkswag appeal (and in turn, overall confidence in everything) came from editing rather than personality. Looking at someone move and dance and exist for a lengthy period of time, however, is completely different. They have to carry it — in a way that editing can only enhance but not fully control. And with fewer cuts and longer one-take stretches come more room for scrutiny (or, in some cases, praise). This video goes beyond dance ghosts of Drake’s past (like that dumb Yeet-like arm-across-body thing as he’s jumping, or that other dumb thing where he kind of rotates like a compass with the elbow and it’s kind of a “Bye Bye Bye” ‘N Sync thing with the fist pump). The Drake portion of this music video begins with 28 straight seconds of unedited Drake doing things. These are new waters for him: not just the dancing, but consistently existing on camera, with help from no one, needing to be interesting the entire time.

The video for “Hotline Bling” is a good sign if you’re invested in Aubrey Drake Graham, the performer. An obvious weak spot in his repertoire is the live performance, in the sense that he doesn’t have a library of classic performances like a Kanye or a Beyoncé. But then again, those are two people who can interestingly move and exist, alone, for long stretches of time. With Drake, the idea of whether the moves are good and cool is subjective, and to each their own. (They’re phenomenal.) But the fact that he’s doing them, or anything at all, is what you want to see.

It’s like the old saying goes, ’tis better to feel yourself than to not feel at all.

Welcome back to our series Rembert Explains. Every so often, 28-year-old Rembert Browne will watch a video from the past. Rembert will write down his thoughts as he’s watching the video, then we’ll post those thoughts here. This week is the final installment, selected by Rembert Browne: “Unleash the Dragon” by Sisqo, from the year 1999. If you have an idea for a future episode of Rembert Explains, it is unfortunately too late.

(This is not the first time I’ve written about this video on Grantland. In one of the early YouTube Hall of Fame posts [date: October 26, 2011], this was my blurb pick for “The Worst Music Videos of All Time.” Feels right to go long on it, four full years later.)

0:02 This video is already more expensive than it should be. Two seconds in, there has already been the sound of a helicopter, an aerial shot, and an actual crowd.

0:08 Why did all of these people show up for this video? I’ve never seen so many people make such a bad decision at the same time.

0:11 It’s so upsetting that instead of just doing a music video they tried to make this into a “movie.” This is what happens when you have the “Thong Song” and then get the green light to release more singles that were never supposed to be singles. Releasing “Unleash the Dragon” after “Thong Song” is like getting good at football and then just assuming you’d automatically be good at poetry.

0:19 Yes, this is a barricade and news crew, for Sisqo. A LOCAL NEWS CREW.

0:22 What a time.

I want to be very clear about something: I love Sisqo. He was the lead singer of one of the most underrated R&B groups of all time, Dru Hill. Every time I watch the video to “5 Steps,” I cry, especially when THAT DOVE COMES OUT AT THE END AND THEN SISQO KNEELS — LORD LORD LORD.

But this song is inexcusable. And this video absolutely takes it over the top, in the sense that maybe he (and everyone involved) should have gone to prison as soon as it was finished.

0:25 People really brought flags to this Sisqo block party like it was Glastonbury. Unreal.

0:27 I haven’t seen this video in years, so there are going to be quite a few Sisqo realities that I forgot existed. Like the chain.

Also, WHY THE UNDERSCORE AFTER “DRAGON”? I’m already getting pissed off.

0:28 Just as a reminder, it’s almost been half a minute and there has not been any music. Also, why are human beings helping Sisqo put on his jackets like he’s Jed Bartlet or something?

0:29 Imagine being the recipient of sunglasses from Sisqo and him not even looking at you. Just absolutely disrespectful.

0:37 Sisqo finally sang something — “the dragon” — in Sisqovoce. Also, he spun a microphone around his finger, which I can’t make a GIF of because it’ll give me a computer virus.

0:38 It’s at this point in music history that Sisqo begins one of our biggest buildups and then immediately lets down humanity like we’ve rarely ever seen. He hits us with the spoken word:

What I’m about to do
I’m sure nobody expected
But that’s what I do

Y’all know me
Right now
I’m about to release the dragon
Uh, uh, come on

0:55 And then the drop:

Here I come
N​-​-​-​-s hold me back

Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Nothing is funnier than this. I’m sorry. Nothing. I’ve never seen someone be less intimidating in their most intimidating life moment than what Sisqo does right here. He lost the battle before the minute mark, and there are still six more minutes.

HERE I COME. N​-​-​-​-S HOLD ME BACK — I NEED OXYGEN.

One of the best parts is the crowd reaction. They love it. “GO SISQO WE LOVE YOU” they’re probably screaming as he berates them with HERE I COME / N​-​-​-​-S HOLD ME BACK.

1:02 I feel like this is definitely Ben Carson’s go-to song in karaoke.

1:03 He has more lyrics. And not a single one should be overlooked.

Tired of holdin’ back
I’m about to let the drag’ attack

It’s too much. Fun fact: The “Unleash the Dragon” video is the prequel to Red Tails.

1:10 One of the notes I made in that 2011 blurb about “Unleash the Dragon” was about the probable plan leading up to writing the lyrics: “Sisqo should say the N-word more than 70 times.” Through 70 seconds, he’s very much on pace:

Bugged out n​-​-​-​-s
Thugged out n​-​-​-​-s
I don’t really care
You all my n​-​-​-​-s

And wouldn’t you know it, the crowd loves it. But it’s almost as if he wants the crowd to take him more seriously, but they’re not — PERHAPS CAUSING ANGER THAT MIGHT, IN TURN, CAUSE HIM TO UNLEASH THE DRAGON.

1:11 In case anyone was wondering what record label Sisqo was on at the time:

Yep, the answer is, in fact, Def Soul.

1:16 Sisqo has made it to the chorus, but he’s still so serious. And he’s on his balcony, with his Red Tails dancers, singing and dancing, begging the crowd to take him seriously. But they won’t; the crowd is just smiling and cheering from below. He’s assuring them, “Y’all n​-​-​-​-s gon’ make me / unleash the dragon.” But they’re not listening. Then he’s all, “I know you don’t really wanna / unleash the dragon.” But still, they’re just so gleeful, happy to be at a Sisqo concert. But what they don’t know — a fact that Sisqo clearly knows — is that this is bigger than any normal concert. The stakes are at an all-time high.

1:18 The ground begins to shake, causing everyone to become a very bad actor.

1:28 The sudden quakes are getting so bad that Sisqo stops singing. Not dancing, however, as he and the Red Tails would never slow down. No one can really know, but I feel as if the seismic disturbances are slightly connected to this dragon Sisqo keeps talking about.

1:47 Around this point of the song/video, it gets unnecessarily bad. It’s the point when the video fully takes over the song; the commotion of the scene is three times louder than the lyrics and the music, which is enhanced only because Sisqo is barely singing anymore — since, you know, this video is real and all.

1:56 This is so bad. Sisqo goes three seconds without singing, and then just screams “OH NA NA NA.” How did this happen. How the hell did this happen?

1:59 Uh-oh.

This could be bad. Also, most of the crowd has been launched to the ground by what the newscaster with the slicked-back hair is calling “an earthquake.” But I have a feeling Sisqo is the only one who’s thinking, Wait, this might not be an earthquake, in which case I really might have to unleash the dragon.

2:08 BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE.

THAT’S A DRAGON, LADIES AND GENTS.

3:10 A full minute goes by of this dragon just destroying everyone on one city block, stepping on cars and punching buildings while various terrified people say, “OH SHIT.” Where’s Sisqo? Very unclear. Is this still a Sisqo video? Very unclear. Is there any music left? Very unclear.

3:12 The only thing more puzzling than a dragon?

Tatyana Ali. Don’t try to make sense of it. Just accept what has happened. Tatyana Ali is about to be the damsel in distress for Dragon Sisqo in this seven-minute movie that could have been a Vine.

3:26 Oh, hi, Sisqo, how nice of you to join us in your own music video — NOW MIGHT BE A NICE TIME TO UNLEASH THE DRAGON, BRUH.

3:40 What happens after Sisqo sees Tatyana down by the dragon is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. First, Sisqo yells “HEY!” at the dragon as if he’s in Newsies and it’s like c’mon, son.

After this dragon-unleash of a scare tactic, the dragon looks right at him and Sisqo says, “What do you think you’re doing, scaring people, stepping on cars?”

The dragon breaths on him, launching Sisqo back to the doorway, and then out of nowhere the music starts again and he just sings “OH NA NA NA.” It’s almost as if this were done in one take, no script, and everyone had just been molly-waterboarded.

3:46 “I know you don’t really wanna” —Sisqo, covered in dragon saliva, to the dragon.

4:11 This dragon, obviously very post-Sisqo, begins to start swinging at him, like the gnat that he is. Luckily for Sisqo, he is really good at front flips.

4:41 The next 30 seconds are really dark, even by “Unleash the Dragon” standards. After all of this, they had the nerve to unleash two rap verses by two rappers whom I refuse to look up, both of whom are wearing snakeskin outfits wrapped in turkey bacon.

And for those of you who are concerned with the dragon-tearing-up-the-city plot, yes, this verse is taking place in a room that the dragon just destroyed. And no, they are not concerned for their safety, because the room assuredly has Cristal.

5:00 Here is your five-minutes-in Sisqo-in–The Matrix update, for anyone still sick enough to be reading this:

This is also the moment when I realize this is the greatest video of its time. It’s like seven different nightmares stitched together, brought to you by the infinite budgets of the late ’90s.

5:20 Sisqo’s doing flips and avoiding being killed by the dragon, but I also just remembered that Sisqo has that belly tattoo. Just didn’t want to leave that out.

Also, Sisqo is getting his little ASS kicked, but doing it in style.

That shot alone cost more than Whiplash.

6:00 If you hadn’t guessed, Sisqo ends up defeating the real dragon by unleashing his inner dragon. What, exactly, is his inner dragon? Dancing the dragon to death.

First he does his heroic moves:

And then he puts on his shades (this time, on his own).

And then he runs under the dragon, causing it to fall in an alley, the end.

Yes, that’s how he defeats the dragon and saves the world. Like every first-level boss of a video game, he just confuses it and it dies. Wow, some dragon Sisqo has inside. Good thing he’s so clever when his black outfit turns red and he becomes the dragon, out-dragoning an actual dragon. Thank god for Sisqo.

6:33 What Sisqo does next … just sit down before you read the next line. It’s actually too much, the nerve he has at this moment.

“SISQO. N​-​-​-​- WHAT” —DRAGON SISQO TO THE DEAD DRAGON.

We’re not worthy.

There’s a little bit more in the video, but it’s mainly just Sisqo calling other dragons “n​-​-​-​-s.” I’m so glad this terrible song and this terrible video happened. Without it, a third of my lifetime tears never would have left my eyes. Thank you, Sisqo, for continuously carrying me to the gates of Valhalla every time I push play on this work of art.

Silento, “Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)”

This is not a new song. But as of right now, this is the no. 1 rap song in the country. And that will probably be the case through 2017, so just get used to it. (Warning: If you are a stickler about high lyric content, this is your song, your moment, your Ben-Hur.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvdJnev1S10

Lifehack: If you go to Chipotle and do the “SILENTO” scream but replace it with “CILANTRO,” they’ll kindly ask you to leave the line.

Justin Bieber, “What Do You Mean?”

This is a new song. This is a good song. We really don’t deserve a world where Bieber and Efron are peaking at the same time. What a perfect time to be alive or something.

Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, “Downtown”

This is a new song. And if imagining Russell Wilson’s haircut writing a five-minute musical about Anchorman 2 gives you the chills, you’ll probably like it.

Solange, Dev Hynes, King, and Moses Sumney, “To Be Young, Gifted and Black”

This is not a new song. But it is a new cover. Good things happen when Solange and Dev work together.

Le1f, “Koi”

This is a new video. This is a great video. I can’t stop watching this video. You should watch this video. It screams summer noooooo please don’t end noooooooooo, which I guarantee you need in your life right now.

Future, ft. Drake, “Where Ya At”

This is not a new song. But this is a new video, a video I’m only partially convinced wasn’t shot on my roof. The video is filled with Future, still fully dialed into his Zorro look, Drake doing his cool kid hallway stumble dance, and THE COOLEST DJ IN THE WORLD, DJ ESCO.

Pharrell Williams, “Freedom”

This is not a new song. But I think I just finished my 50th listen of it, which is the moment you realize you have no idea what Pharrell is talking about.

Lyrics that I’ve convinced myself are in this song:

“Eat all the shrimp / shrimp go a float / float in the sea / race is a myth / live like a queen / eat like a bear / feed all the toads / hats on the shelf.”

Carly Rae Jepsen, “Run Away With Me”

This is a newish song. And whenever I turn on this song, I am a caterpillar. By the time the hook rolls around, however, I am a full-grown butterfly, walking on two legs, trying to find a bodega that sells loosies. LONG LIVE THE ANTISWIFT.

Alessia Cara, “Here”

This is not a new song. But it is a from her new EP, Four Pink Walls. Cara is riding the wave that comes from associating yourself with a Drake song; in her case, a “Hotline Bling” cover. It’s a great cover, because she can really sing. “Here” is the proof she might be the truth.

LeBron James Dancing to Future’s “March Madness”

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#futurehive @kingjames Views from the 6

A post shared by Joe G (@mc_yammer) on Aug 1, 2015 at 6:43am PDT

This is not a new song. LeBron James’s love for Future is not new. But this is simply the latest installment of his public nonstop adoration tour for the song “March Madness,” which he loves like Lee Greenwood loves America.

The October 2015 issue of Vanity Fair has a story titled “Why Late-Night Television Is Better than Ever.” The piece highlights 10 humans, who — as the title suggests — are responsible for late-night television being better than ever. The 10 humans are Stephen Colbert, Conan O’Brien, Trevor Noah, James Corden, Jimmy Kimmel, John Oliver, Seth Meyers, Larry Wilmore, Jimmy Fallon, and Bill Maher.

The article has words, but atop those words is a photo of the 10 men, all wearing suits together, and looking very much like 10 men in suits enjoying being 10 men in suits.

The following exchange is not in the article, but is the conversation that preceded the shoot, probably. It’s our best guess.

Fallon: “Wait, where’s my glass? Why don’t I have a drink? Even that guy Corben has a juice box, WTF.”

Kimmel: “Fuck you, Fallon.”

Corden: “Hey, guys, I’m James. And it’s James CORDEN, with a d. Didn’t really get to introduce myself the past few times.”

Maher: “Nice to meet you, James. Why are you wearing a suit like the rest of us? People are going to think you’re a late-night TV host.” [Runs over to Kimmel; they chest bump.]

Conan: “Not to be that guy again, but isn’t it weird it’s just 10 guys here? All dudes, again.”

Kimmel: “Fuck you, Conan.”

Conan: “I’m just saying, I feel like this group is going to be problematic if it gets out.”

Colbert: “Conan’s right. Ten white dudes is just not going to go over well.”

Wilmore: “Ummmmm, hi?” [Looks at Trevor Noah; Noah looks away, grabs phone, texts Wilmore: “Don’t fuck this up for me, this is my first meeting.”]

Colbert: “Sorry, Larry. I didn’t see you. You know I love you, man. And loving the new show.“

Oliver: “Can we get this shoot over with? I actually have a good show to work on.”

Kimmel: “Fuck you, Oliver.”

Oliver: “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Roger Federer? That’s not even an insult, just a question.”

Kimmel: “Yes. Yes, they have.”

Fallon: “Seriously, why don’t I have a drink? WHY WOULD NINE OUT OF 10 PEOPLE HAVE A DRINK AND I NOT HAVE A DRINK? Is it because of my hand? Get me a juice box like Corben, that looks fun!”

Maher: “That was impressive stuff, Other Jimmy. You didn’t break out into laughter or giggle once through that bit. To Jimmy Fallon!” [The other nine men toast with their drinks.]

Conan: “I can’t lie, I love you guys. This is the best part of my week, every week.”

Noah: “This happens every week?”

Fallon: “Absolutely. Tuesdays at 6 a.m. Welcome. It’s kind of like that movie The Skulls, but no one dies at the end.”

Seth: “TELL THAT TO CHRIS HARDWICK, AM I RIGHT? AM I? YA BURNT?”

Maher: “Was that a reference to your show, Seth?”

Oliver: “Bill, stop. We talked about this.”

Seth: “Thanks, John. At least someone here isn’t a complete ass.”

Oliver: “But seriously, Seth, was that a reference to your show?”

Colbert: “Cot DAMN, SETH, how does John Oliver’s ass taste, Larry?”

Wilmore: “What? I wasn’t even speaking, that was Seth.”

Colbert: “Not important. What matters is your show, which I DVR and watch twice, every day, and can’t get enough of.”

Noah: “At what point do we let a photographer come in to take our picture?”

Corden: “We shoot the shit about being men for about three hours, and then they take a picture, and then we leave.”

Maher: “What’s more rare: two blacks or two gingers in the same room?”

Conan: “Can I leave before the punch line?”

Maher: “Neither. ONE WOMAN.”

Kimmel: “Wow, that actually wasn’t offensive. Cheers to you, Bill.”

Colbert: “Kind of reminds me of my writers’ room. Only two away — I’m so CLOSE.“

Fallon: “You’ll get there, baby. We all will.”

[A photographer walks in, takes one picture on an iPhone, leaves 30 seconds later.]

Oliver: “Anyone have anything else? I really need to go make another really good episode of television.”

Colbert: “I have one final thing.”

Kimmel: “Please make this quick.”

Colbert: “How come they haven’t replaced my show?”

Wilmore: “Are you serious right now?”

Colbert: “I am so dumb — blame it on the Bulleit, as they say. Larry, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: I love Black-ish.

Wilmore: “That’s not my show anymore. I have my own show. It’s in the exact spot of your old show, on the same network. And people like it. STOP ACTING LIKE THEY RETIRED YOUR TIME SLOT.”

Colbert: “Sure thing, Larry. You’re my best friend, love ya.”

One of the gifts of the latter days of summer was the video to Future’s song “Where Ya At,” from his third studio album, Dirty Sprite 2. The song features a verse from an increasingly swoll and bearded Aubrey Drake Graham, alongside Future Didion, who — with regard to his fashion, most notably his 10-gallon-hat look — is fully dialed in. Because it’s a union of two of the more culturally relevant active rappers — who have two of the most loyal (and occasionally delusional and always hyperbolic) fan bases — they are the immediate stars of the song and video. When you take a step back, however, you realize they are not.

The first minute of the video has Future dancing on a roof, in front of DJ Esco and producer Metro Boomin, who are really dancing on the roof. Each time Esco and Metro appear on the screen, it’s almost subliminal, lasting typically no more than a second. But in that second, you see portions of their hood ballet, and each time it’s equal parts grace and chaos.

Seeing them dance in the video changes the way you approach the song, changes how it hits you. And while Future and Drake are certainly gliding to the track, that pales in comparison to the intimate relationship Metro and Esco appear to have — physically — with every granule of it. Which should come as no surprise, as Esco is Future’s DJ (as well as the gatekeeper who decides which music plays at Atlanta’s famed Magic City Mondays, which makes him an ethnomusicologist of sorts) and Metro Boomin produced “Where Ya At.”

This was not the first time that Drake and Future had worked together, and as we learned weeks later, not the last, as a joint mixtape, What a Time to Be Alive, was released on Sunday night. Recorded recently over a six-day stretch in Atlanta, the project comprises 11 songs, nine of which contain both Drake and Future, with two solo tracks (one for each rapper) tacked on at the end. Again, because it’s Drake and Future, the immediate reaction is to focus on every word uttered by the two rappers and break down the hidden meanings that give insight into various disses and beefs, which ultimately will lead to future blog posts. To their credit, they do a great deal to grab your attention: 10 songs from either of these rappers would be a big deal, especially with little time for fans to emotionally prepare — that it’s a joint project only intensifies the effect.

That said, while this is certainly a Drake-and-Future collaboration, it’s a Metro Boomin mixtape. The two rappers are clearly the luxury car, but Metro as executive producer is the steering wheel. He worked on seven of the tracks, producing three of them by himself. One of the songs that he solo-produced is “Jumpman.”

For years, the many dances that have come out of Atlanta have been lyric-dependent. When it’s time to “stanky leg,” you listen to GS Boyz’s “Stanky Legg.” The only time you really “walk it out” is during DJ UNK’s “Walk It Out.” And when an entire room is ready to “swag surf,” that is happening only when “Swag Surfin” by Fast Life Yungstaz (or Lil Wayne) is blaring from the speakers.

The current trend is slightly different but still based on the same formula. The past few years — in large part due to the rise of Vine, Instagram video, and dancing Atlanta teens being the most creative humans who exist — have produced a universe of dances, most of which eventually inspire songs. The dances begin in driveways, school parking lots, cafeterias, and living rooms, and they’re recorded and shared so much that a flurry of songs are built around them. There isn’t a singular song for the nae-nae, for example, but there are many songs that are constructed (and named) in a way that allow those who want to nae-nae to do so to a variety of beats with simplistic, repetitive, “nae-nae”-heavy lyrics. The yeet began, culturally, with a Vine of a kid affectionately nicknamed Lil Meatball doing the dance on his school’s track. Because the Vine caught on and the singular move is great, many yeet-titled songs popped up, just so people could capitalize on the newest dance. Most notably, babyfaced rapper Silento has turned this entire craze into one song, “Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae),” which does little more than list all of them. (It shot up to no. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.)

What Metro has done on this mixtape, most notably on “Jumpman,” is to fall somewhere in the middle. The song is begging for you to do a number of already established dances (as well as ones that haven’t been invented yet, plus things that aren’t technically dances but just feel good in the moment), but nowhere does it tell you what to do. The instinct to do certain moves is in the DNA of the song. Listening to “Jumpman” for the second time, I was already dabbing in my chair, unaware for a few moments that I was dabbing in my chair. The song was built for it. And we know the song was built for it because we’ve seen Metro glide to his own creations.

The production swells and relaxes throughout, with the smoother periods hinting that you were only bars away from hitting the move of your choice. And Drake and Future do exactly what Metro’s production asks for, taking full advantage of their ability to use ad-libs, hit high notes, or repeat the same word at the end of bars, using them right when the beat asks for the listener to hit a dance move — that classic Atlanta one-note dance move.

There are two parts to Atlanta dance music right now, the on- and off-beat moves. It’s a game of constants and variables. The constant is the move you always come back to, the move that happens every four beats, the thing that gets the name, the glory — the nae-nae, the dab, the yeet, the whip. The variable is what’s happening on those other three beats, the freestyle, the do whatever you want as long as you make it back to some socially agreed-upon move by beat four. 

“Jumpman” comes at a time when there’s a surplus of fun shit to do when a good rap song comes on at a party. In a little over three minutes, one could pull out nine or 10 moves, plus all the freestyle that comes between all of those moves. It brings you back to Esco and Metro on the roof, where each time you catch a glimpse of them, they’re doing something slightly different. Essentially, it’s a master class of production and rapping and context firing on all cylinders, all very much firmly within the pantheon of Atlanta hip-hop, most of which was meant to be played loudly, played in public, and, above all else, danced to.

The following is a love ballad, a cautionary tale, a story of what happens when a resurrected icon meets a soon-to-be champion.

Monday Night, 9:09 p.m.

“WHAT UP,” I scream into the phone. “Um, hi, I’m outside with your package,” the nervous voice responds. “Oh, sorry. Hey, coming right out.” There is absolutely no reason for me to yell into the phone. I don’t know the number that called, but it has a 404 area code — my area code — and something about that made me overly comfortable with this stranger. I run outside, get the package, and come back inside.

It’s two bottles of Hpnotiq.

Yes, I’ve had Hpnotiq delivered to me via UberRUSH on the first school night of the workweek. In 2015.

In 2004, I’m sure this would not have raised an eyebrow — ordering a delivery of this refreshing blend of premium French vodka, exotic fruit juices, and a touch of cognac on a Monday night was as common back then as going double platinum. But this is 2015, a full liquor generation past the height of the blue drink.

I need this Hpnotiq, because something important is happening, right under my nose. Hpnotiq is trying to make Hpnotiq happen again.

Cam’ron, as a spokesman for Hpnotiq, in 2015. They’re actually trying to do this, for real. And I am absolutely here for it. Hpnotiq is throwing house parties where Cam’ron and other artists perform real-life Cam’ron and other artist sets, but in the name of Hpnotiq. That, too, I am here for. For years, I’ve had the idea to gather all of the mid-aughts lyrics centered on Hpnotiq and celebrate them in all their glory in the form of an Internet blog post. But it never came together, because it was potentially a piece about Hpnotiq roughly 10 years too late. But now that this glorious wormhole has presented itself, it’s time.

If I’m going to do a deep dive on Hpno, though, I’ll need to become excruciatingly familiar with the beverage. “Know your subject,” as they say. The irony of my love and obsession with the drink is that Hpnotiq’s glory days were the years leading up to when I could legally drink. Had it been a consistent part of my life, I’m sure the allure would not be there. But Hpnotiq was the thing my friends and I wanted, because it was the thing we didn’t stop hearing about, and the thing we couldn’t readily have.

Tuesday Morning, 10:45 a.m.

This is a terrible idea.

That first sip of Hpnotiq is my breakfast. It’s over ice, and while it’s delicious, I can’t stop looking at the bottle. There is so much left. And the glow within the bottle is almost taunting me — daring me — to enter, like a bioluminescent bay in Vieques. I spent so much of my sub-21 years wanting to behave as my favorite rappers did, and now the moment is here. I thought I was ready, but maybe I’m not.

For people of a certain age, the early 2000s were the greatest time to be alive. I was on the youngest end of the range for this generation, as I was comfortably in my high school years. When you’re in high school, you’re too young to do everything, which makes it the perfect age to try to do certain things and fantasize about other things. You’re not grown, but you think you’re so close to being grown that you’ll do anything to feel grown. The people you admire are older than you and they talk about things they’re doing, which resonates with you, because it’s all right outside your grasp.

You couldn’t pay me a million dollars to relive a single day of it. I miss it so much.

Tuesday Afternoon, 12:45 p.m.

I’m starting to like it.

I know how deceiving a liquor bottle can be, but I don’t care. Looking at the Hpnotiq after my second mugful, I’m sure that I’m halfway done. This is easy, I think. I love Hpnotiq and Hpnotiq loves me. I am in such a good head and health space that I begin my deep dive into what I always felt was true, this period when rap couldn’t escape discussing the liquor.

The truly amazing thing about Hpnotiq, and its glory days from 2003 to 2006, was that in 2000 it didn’t even exist. Its cultural rise went from its creation in 2001, to its owners bulldogging the drink into New York City clubs in 2002, to Fabolous having a sip of it in P. Diddy’s then-restaurant, Justin’s.

The first time I remember taking note of the drink was on Fab’s landmark 2003 album, Street Dreams. Loso could not stop talking about Hpnotiq. In the current age of brands and “influencers,” words are rarely spoken unless work behind the scenes has taken place to perfectly curate a message. But this was 2003. And while official liquor placements in videos did eventually take place between the rapper and the drink, at least in the beginning it seemed as if Fab just really liked Hpnotiq.

The following is all from one album:

Uh, hold up Cain, uh, why wouldn’t I have samples of raw (uh huh)
In Akademik sample velours
Hpnotiq samples to pour
The European sample Azure
—”Why Wouldn’t I”

I’m particularly picky
When it come to licky licky
Have ’em slidin’ off them Vickies quickly
Under the doo-rag thick three sixty
It’s the hypno and sticky icky
—”Not Give a Fuck”

Ain’t no tellin’ what this hypno’ will do to me
I’m feelin’ like I can do what I want now
Dip-low immunity
—”This Is My Party”

These lyrics spoke to me then, but they really speak to me now. Because at 12:52 p.m. I finally get it. If there is one phrase that sums up my current existence, as I crawl back under my office desk to pour a third glass of Hpnotiq, it’s “Ain’t no telling’ what this hypno’ will do to me.” All I can assume is that, most likely, it’ll be something great.

Tuesday Afternoon, 1:26 p.m.

Just following instructions.

On the back of a Hpnotiq bottle are instructions about how to best indulge in the beverage. And the scripture reads:

Always serve chilled — on the rocks, straight, with vodka, rum, champagne, or added to martinis, margaritas, shooters, or your favorite cocktail for a unique twist.

There wasn’t Vitamin Water Formula 50 in the early 2000s, but I assume they would have added this to the list. Because, lordamercy, this is a phenomenal creation I’ve made. Also, it’s relevant because if there’s someone who cared about Hpnotiq back in the old days (2006), it was 50 Cent.

Now homie, I say I “run it run it” cause I’m in control
Hpnotiq, Hennessy, a couple shots of Patron I have you feeling aight
—“You Don’t Know” (Eminem song)

2006 was the tail end, however. People were still talking about it (most notably, Jeezy on “Go Getta,” the Game on “It’s Okay (One Blood),” Crime Mob on “Rock Yo Hips,” Lupe Fiasco [in a negative light] on a few occasions on Food & Liquor), but what happened between 2003 and 2005 made me think it was the only thing they served at these things called “clubs” that one day I would excitedly try to attend but then be denied entry.

And it wasn’t just rappers. From a 2003 People:

Hpnotiq was spreading to the general celebrity public, even making its way into a Sex and the City episode. This mainstream acceptance was noteworthy, but the thing that continued to fuel the machine was still hip-hop and the liquor’s nonstop appearance in songs. A collection of the (non-Fabolous) greatest hits from 2003:

Cause I’m the best that ever done it, the best that lived it
I ain’t no overnight success goddamnit I was born with it
The Prada mama, the Dolce and Gabbana drippin
The Blue Hpnotiq Martini Mimosa sippin
Y’all better team or get it together
Or you, you and her can get it whenever
—Lil’ Kim, “Came Back for You”

She at the bar stylin’ she throwing it up
She drink a little hypno, throwing it up
—Joe Budden, “Pump It Up”

Countless cars and countless charges
Street n​-​-​-​-s makin blunts out of Cuban cigars
Big body leaners Hpnotiq by the liters
With a flock of hoes on us cause our chronic is the greenest
—WC, “Gangsta Nation” (Westside Connection song)

Gas, break, dip, stop, and go
Ride the strip, hit the sto
You know that I bought it, you know that I got it
Had to cop a bottle of the blue Hpnotiq
Incredible Hulks, you know what I mean
Mix it with some dark and watch that shit turn green
—E-40, “Act a Ass”

Hpnotiq in my drink (that’s right!)
Shake ya ass till it stink (that’s right!)
Mr. Mos’ on the beat (that’s right!)
Put it down for the streets (that’s right!)
—Missy Elliott, “Pass That Dutch”

I think I got a Hpnotiq
Drunk got me singin bout it
Back off in Cali like Cool J
Fresh on the scene with Sade
—Nappy Roots, “What Cha Gonna Do? (The Anthem)”

My girls know who I be (true)
My girls like VIP (true)
And they like Hpno-I-C (Que)
And they ain’t tryin to show you ID (true)
—Kelis, “Milkshake (Remix)”

After that we go to my room for the after, after party
Y’all know what happens next
Hpnotiq and a rated X
Got her singin’ the greatest sex
—R. Kelly, “Gangsta Girl” (Big Tymers song)

Speaking of Robert Kelly, he really wanted people to know that he had Hpnotiq essentially on tap in 2003. He brought up the liquor again in “Snake (Remix),” which he performed at the 2003 BET Awards, dramatically beginning his set with the lyrics, “First we’re gonna pop open a bottle of the Hpnotiq / No more time waste, let’s get this party started.” One of the rappers on that remix? Cam’ron.

As they say, what a time to be alive. And now, finally — 12 years later — alone, from my desk at work, in the middle of the afternoon, I can really understand what they’re talking about.

Tuesday Afternoon, 3:50 p.m.

Things have gone terribly wrong.

I don’t know why I had sushi for lunch. Why on EARTH would I have sushi for lunch? Anyway, a word to the wise: Don’t eat sushi after your third cup of Hpnotiq. It’s almost 4 p.m. and I’m having trouble staying awake. I also have the chills. Also, I just got very warm. I wish I weren’t wearing a sweatshirt. I wish I were wearing a swimming pool. Also, I just asked someone how many Tums one can take in a 30-minute window, because my chest is on fire. Also, I think people are beginning to notice what I’m doing under my desk, because the last time I just stayed there for a while because my left eye started to tear up.

I hope this espresso helps. I’m not mixing it with the Hpnotiq, I just need another stimulant to try to counteract all the blue gak running through my veins. Also, when I went outside to get the espresso, someone walked by and said “go rebels.” It’s really disarming for a white man to walk by black you and look you in the eyes and say “go rebels.” I think my Hpno instincts told me to swing on him, but then I looked down and saw I was wearing an Ole Miss sweatshirt. I think I still tried to trip him up.

I think everyone in the office knows. People keep walking by my desk, looking at me, and not saying anything. I think there’s a mole in the office. Why is there so much Hpnotiq left?

How did Twista do it? Twista loved Hpnotiq. I bet he still does. Look how much Twista loves Hpnotiq.

Cuz I’m coming some pimp tight game
Iced out charm
Chromed out truck
Come through balling like I really don’t give a fuck
Blowing a fatty of the purple with the windows up
While I’m sipping on Hennessy and Hpnotiq getting stuck
—”Do U” (Do or Die song), 2003

Take the Hpno to the dome
Smokin when I’m rollin, wood on chrome
—”Rubberband Man (Remix)” (T.I. song), 2004

Girl you know you get me so erotic
Especially when I be sippin’ Hpnotiq
Got me feelin like I’m smokin on chronic
When we fuckin’ it be so exotic
—”So Lonely,” 2006

Give you Hpnotiq to get you erotic
And then I take you somewhere exotic
Where we can blow chronic
—”Diddy Rock” (Diddy song), 2006

I just had one of those bad burps.

Tuesday Late Afternoon, 5:15 p.m.

Help.

I’m fine, but something terrifying has happened and I don’t know what to do. I spilled a little Hpnotiq on the carpet because my Montessori pouring skills have begun to falter.

Two minutes later:

As I said earlier, help.

I’m not sure if this rap lifestyle was ever for me. How did they drink so much of this drink in the mid-2000s? Some of my heroes would stop at no length to talk about the joys of mixing Hpnotiq and Hennessy, as if it were cheese eggs and cheese grits. I spent so many years yearning for this lifestyle, and now that I’m here, maybe it wasn’t for me from the beginning.

Seriously though, people loved to mix Hpno and Henny. Especially in 2005.

You don’t wanna run up on a n​-​-​-​- in the club
When I’m gone off that Hpnotiq, Henny, and that buzz
—Master P, “Yappin’”

I hit the stage buckin’ hard, got the whole club rockin
Hennessy and Hpnotiq got me thinkin’ ’bout the projects
—Webbie, “Full of Dat Shit”

One cup of Henny, one cup of Hpno
If you ran out of it, yo, you got to get more
—Kanye West, “Tim Westwood Freestyle”

Towel under the door, we smoke until the day’s end
Puff puff and pass, don’t fuck up rotation
Hpnotiq for Henny? Now n​-​-​-​- that’s a chaser
—Kanye West, “We Major”

I’ma hit the bar up, put some Henny in your cup
With the Hpno, girl you incredible, sexy
Two-way text me on the Blackberry
—Phoenix Orion, “Don’t Hurt Nobody” (Canibus song)

And I’m chasin’ it down, with Henny and Hpno’
Two pulls and pass, you know how fast the weed go
—Tony Yayo, “I’m So High”

There’s no Hennessy here, so that’s not really an option. But I think I know the next best thing.

Tuesday Evening, 6:05 p.m.

I’m baaaaaaaaack.

Introducing: The Wintertime Incredible Hulk. Ingredients: Hpnotiq (obviously) and a Lemon Zinger hot tea K-Cup from the office kitchen. Not only is the warmth soothing the chest pains that may never leave, it’s beyond tasty.

I’m in an incredible mood. Pretty much everyone has left work, but I’m just hitting my stride. Just jumped into a little transcribing, and the Hamilton soundtrack has never sounded better. If you haven’t listened to Hamilton after finishing three-fourths of a bottle of Hpnotiq, you haven’t truly experienced the theater.

In addition to 2005 being the year that people embraced the true power of the mix, it’s also the moment, perhaps, when Hpnotiq got too big for Hpnotiq. It was actually everywhere. A little-known rapper, Kendrick Lamar, named a song of his “Hpnotiq,” and he didn’t even reference it in the lyrics. It was just a good, cool thing to name the song. If you needed to discuss anything that was blue, Hpnotiq was the go-to metaphor (“My raps are chaotic, your face blue like Hpnotiq / Cause I’m a multi-millionaire who still using Ebonics” —Ludacris, “Family Affair”). The Syleena Johnson song “Hypnotic” wasn’t spelled like the liquor, but it was clear it was playing off the fame of the drink. The hook:

Hypnotic, hypnotic, hypnotic (hypnotic), hypnotic
Hypnotic, so hypnotic
Your love is so hypnotic, hypnotic, hypnotic, (hypnotic), hypnotic
Hypnotic, so hypnotic (so hypnotic)
Your love is so (your love is so)

Lines from the verses:

R. Kelly: I’m like a pimp with a twist / Hpnotiq with the Cris’

Fabolous (yes, he’s back): The game is hypnotic, somethin like the blue drink / You see me on the hood, frontin’ with the blue minks.

The cultural imprint of the liquor was so big, it was as if the only direction it could go was down. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what happened.

Tuesday Evening, 7:20 p.m.

It’s time to leave work. And I’m so close.

The day has been filled with ups and downs. With that said, I think I get Hpnotiq now. And I’m kind of glad that only on a few occasions could I get my hands on this as a kid. Because an entire bottle of this is not for kids. Really, if I’m being frank, an entire bottle on a Tuesday afternoon is probably only for myself and famous rappers. I get it so much that I’m convinced I don’t need to finish the last bit. So I decide that I’m done. Enough is enough.

I decide to get in a cab, because I’m a little too self-conscious at the moment to get on the subway. This turns out to be a bad idea. Because this is when the city starts talking to me.

Seriously? Nike-fueled subliminal messaging telling me to do a chin-up and then have one more glass of Hpnotiq? Unreal. But it’s not over.

YouTube’s in on it too? What does this even mean, anyway? All I know is that I’m convinced it’s an ad pushing me in the direction of finishing this Hpnotiq.

But it still isn’t done.

NO IT WASN’T, SUBLIMINALS FROM A BIG APPLE NIGHT OUT ON THE TOWN. EVERYTHING IS NOT GOING TO BE ALRIGHT.

I can’t deal with this, being tormented for being a quitter. I know what I have to do: ask Siri.

Useless. It’s time to go home and handle this, once and for all.

Tuesday Night, 9:59 p.m.

I’ve eaten dinner, gotten some air, had some very chatty conversations with cab drivers, but now it’s time. At some point, you have to be like, what would Twista do? What would Fab do? What would Lil’ Kim do? What would Kanye do? What would Crime Mob do? What would that guy who rapped on the Canibus song do? I know what all of them would do at a moment like this.

Finish the damn Hpnotiq, like a champion. So I do what all champions do: dig deep, find the strength you didn’t know you had, take out two ice cubes from the freezer, and let those final seven drops fall into your mug.

One second later, it’s done.

On September 22, 2015, a child name Rembert Browne has finally become an adult. And to only one thing does he owe this achievement: the refreshing blend of blue stuff known as Hpnotiq. I’m so glad you’re back. To all the rappers old and new, it’s time to fire up the old Hpno metaphor machine. Today is a new day. And while it may be months before I can even look at that second bottle of Hpnotiq, to the rest of you, jump in. The water is premium, it’s French, and it’s chilled.

Sometimes the Internet completely lets you down. And then you have to do things to make the Internet aware of your disappointment with the hope that it never happens again.

Last week, His Holiness Francis, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God made a trip to the United States, beginning in Washington, D.C. When His Holiness Francis, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God arrived in the nation’s capital (unclear if by BoltBus or Megabus; awaiting confirmation, check back for updates over the course of the year), he first went to the White House to meet with the First Family, followed by a parade, the midday prayer, and Mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.

Things were going great for HHFBORVOJCSOTPOTASPOTUCPOIAAMOTRPSOTVCSSOTSOG, until his next stop: Congress. The “Pope” (as some lazily refer to him) was set to address both houses of Congress. And then he did just that. As he walked out, most of the room’s attention was focused on Pope Francis, since he’s the Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God. All but one person:

He used to be known simply as Representative Bob Brady from Pennsylvania. That was until, like a villain in a Scooby-Doo episode, he used the diversion of “Pope” to steal the drinking glass used by His Holiness Francis, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God.

Bob did that. And then he kept going.

Stan White/U.S. Rep. Bob Brady’s Office

Yes, he took it back to his Congressional Office Hideout, drank from it, and then passed it around like he got a free bottle of coconut Ciroc at the club.

This is not why we’re here, however. I couldn’t care less about Congressman Bob Brady and what he steals. Or what he said was an approved steal. Or that he claims he’s going pay for it. Or that he admitted to His Holiness Francis, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the Vatican City State, Servant of the servants of God that he did it. My concern is the degree to which this story was covered, ad nauseam, without bringing up the obvious origin story to his nefarious ways.

Most stories reporting on his heist eventually were like, This isn’t the first time Brady has robbed someone more important; he also took Obama’s glass at his first inauguration. That’s cool and all, but again, it’s not the story.

When one speaks of “Pope” and “theft,” only one thing should pop into your mind:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvPF8qmJjTM

It’s the 12th episode of the seventh season of The Golden Girls. Titled “The Pope’s Ring,” the episode centers around Sophia stealing Pope John Paul II’s ring during his visit to Miami. As you remember, Sophia and Dorothy have two tickets to the papal Mass, and Dorothy’s super excited, but then Sophia comes in and tells her she traded their two terrible tickets for one really good ticket just for her, so she can be closer to the Pope and ask him to bless her friend Agnes. Blanche, hearing the story, is skeptical that Sophia will be able to get the Pope’s attention, until Sophia says she thinks she’ll get the Pope’s attention pretty easily.

Later in the episode, Sophia returns home from Mass and shows off a new collector’s item: Pope John Paul II’s ring. Dorothy doesn’t believe it’s real, but Sophia assures her it’s legitimate (“You think he’d wear his fakes in public like Zsa Zsa?”). Dorothy needs the full story, so Sophia sets the scene. She’s at Mass, and then sneaks into the handicapped section. When the Pope arrives, he comes to that section and she bends down to kiss his ring. As she’s going to kiss it, security comes and takes the Pope away. And then she tells Dorothy, “He leaves the ring behind, as a memento.”

Dorothy, knowing her mom very well, follows up with the only appropriate response: “Mom, you stole the Pope’s ring?”

Sophia doesn’t want to give it back, suggesting that maybe it’s a sign and further wondering if perhaps her having the ring would get her into the Bible. Dorothy’s not having it, and tells Sophia she has to return it. Before Sophia gives it back, she tries to test out its powers, waving her hand over a glass of water, seeing if it would turn into wine, and then when it doesn’t, saying “Worth a shot.”

The next time we see Sophia, it’s when she walks into the kitchen, crashing a typical Golden Girls late-night chat session. Her question to the group: “This may not be a good time, but has anyone seen a large jewel-encrusted ring that’s steeped in history just lying around lately?”

Sophia lost the Pope’s ring, which is certainly the only thing worse than stealing the Pope’s ring.

Dorothy helps Sophia look for the ring, and then has a weird hunch something is up. Questioning her mother, she suddenly threatens to flip her upside down and shake her and see what falls out of her pockets. At that point, Sophia pulls the ring out of her pocket.

Sophia lied about losing the Pope’s ring so she wouldn’t have to return it, which is even worse than losing the Pope’s ring or stealing the Pope’s ring.

Ultimately, Sophia’s absolutely blasphemous ways end, as she returns the ring to a priest, and then her friend Agnes actually gets a blessing from Pope John Paul II (played by Eugene Greytak, who also portrayed Pope John Paul II in Night Court, ALF, Sister Act, Murphy Brown, Naked Gun 33 1/3, Ally McBeal, and The Wayans Bros.). He visited the hospital that Agnes was staying in and gave her the blessing that Sophia sorely wanted, the thing behind all of her scheming ways.

She’s a lot like Congressman Brady, except she does it for her dear friends and he robs Popes for his mantle of thievery.

There is no moral to this story — I’m simply disappointed that our country’s foremost political bloggers don’t watch enough Golden Girls. That’s all. Good day.

This morning, the MacArthur Foundation announced its annual “genius grant” recipients. Playwright, composer, singer, rapper, and Washington Heights native Lin-Manuel Miranda was among the 24. The 35-year-old is currently on his second tour of turning Broadway on its head. His first, the musical In the Heights, which he composed and starred in, won four Tony Awards in 2008, including Best Musical, and a Grammy for Best Musical Show Album. It was a 2009 nominee for the Pulitzer Prize in Drama.

Now he has delivered Hamilton, a musical based on the life and death (spoiler) of Alexander Hamilton, his decades-long feud with Aaron Burr, and, in turn, the birth of the United States. Like Hamilton himself, the reality of Broadway is that if your show is going well, you’re always doing that show. Catching Lin-Manuel when he’s not performing is a tough task. In mid-September, between a 2 p.m. matinee (in which his understudy, Javier Muñoz, played the lead)¹ and an 8 p.m. show in which he would perform, we met at the Richard Rodgers Theatre.

We spoke twice. The first time was in his dressing room as he ate the grocery store sushi that you get in the plastic case and which you always hope was made that day. After half an hour, he departed for his daily duties in the Hamilton lottery outside the theater. Dubbed “Ham 4 Ham,” it’s a beautiful, insane display of fandom, with people putting their names in a hat to get an opportunity to see the biggest show in town. Half an hour later, after the crowd had dispersed, we sat alone in the seats that he looks out on every night.

Act 1: Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Dressing Room, Saturday, 5:30 p.m.

It’s been interesting watching Hamilton become “a thing” beyond the crowd that follows Broadway. When I saw the show, Lenny Kravitz and Lee Daniels were sitting across from me — at first they were chill, but by the second act they were completely into it. That was wild for me to see. I’m sure it also is for you — not only seeing them after the show, but seeing them while you’re performing.

So, the scariest show we have done — and it’s all been easy since then — was three weeks at the Public Theater. Busta Rhymes is in the front row. Listen, this is an unapologetic love letter to hip-hop. [Rappers] didn’t come see In the Heights. A couple people did, Run-D.M.C., a few other old heads that love the genre in any form — they came. I was so nervous, [Busta] was in the front row, he took a redeye to get there. And I remember we were doing “My Shot,” and back at the Public, it was literally a “Pass the Courvoisier” line — it was, “Rise up, don’t this shit make my people wanna rise up” — and I saw him go [mimics big smile] and whisper to Riggs [Morales, a longtime record label A&R]. My feet are off the ground I’m rapping so hard because, you know, I got into a fistfight to get the last copy of “Scenario” when I was 13 years old. It’s the only fistfight I’ve ever been in in my life. I was like, Don’t look at Busta, don’t look at Busta. Then I look into the second row and Mandy Patinkin is sitting above Busta Rhymes. If there is a Busta Rhymes of musical theater, it probably is Mandy Patinkin. And it was just fucking crazy, when the people you’ve emptied your pockets to see are seeing you. It’s a crazy feeling. It’s both ennobling and totally humbling and totally terrifying. But after Busta, everything was cool.

Les Misérables is playing next door to the Richard Rodgers Theatre. I know you love Les Mis.

It was my first show.

It’s not just that you have a show on Broadway — if you literally take a step back on the street, your show and Les Mis, the show that helped mold who you are, are on the same block.

The things that you can see in Hamilton that are affecting people are also present in Les Mis. One, it’s trying to capture so much of the human experience that even if we fall short, we’ve got a lot of it. I mean, Les Misérables starts in prison. It’s “Look down, look down, you’re standing in your grave.” And then it goes up from there. And in terms of musical theater, it’s the opposite of what most people’s prejudices with musical theater is: It’s not sunny and uplifting. I think that’s why it struck such a universal chord with people. This is not happy show tunes. The one they do give you, it’s prostitutes. And it comes with this ironic twist.

It’s like a masterclass in how to use themes in order to take a short circuit to someone’s tear duct or heart or gut. You see Valjean at the end and they play that music that was playing when Fantine died and it’s like, we know what’s coming — OH SHIT. “NOW YOU ARE HERE.” — NO, FUCK FUCK FUCK. [Mimics wiping away tears from his eyes.] Like, we just know. And it’s a masterclass. So those are the things that I always responded to. There’s just so much in it, it’s such a full meal. I have so much fun quoting Les Mis to Twitter and shit, because I could do it forever. There’s literally a line for every occasion. It hits everything. The musicals that leave us kind of staggering on our feet are the ones that really reach for a lot. And so, we’re trying to do that.

Backstage in Miranda’s dressing room at the Richard Rodgers Theater.

In the Heights came out at an important time for me — 2008, the recession, terrified to leave college in this climate, not knowing what to do with my life. I knew I wanted to write, but then saw the show and felt like there was the option to create something. In The New Yorker, you mentioned two things that kind of showed you the light. One was Rent.

Rent was the show that made me want to write. Or that showed me you’re allowed to write.

And the other, your going to Wesleyan, taught you that you could write about (or even talk about) where you’re from.

I got into Hunter [College] Elementary when I was 6 years old. So already, it’s like, they call me Lin at school and Lin-Manuel at home. It’s also super stark when there’s another language involved. I speak Spanish at home and English at school. And I’ve had all white Jewish friends from the time I’m 6 years old.

I saw Rent, I loved writing musicals, but the first two musicals I wrote in high school, they sound like Rent. There’s no Latin anything in them. It wasn’t out of shame or embarrassment, I just didn’t bring anything from home to what I was writing. It was just like, “This is for high school and I’m writing about high school shit.” So one of them was about an unchaperoned party and I think I gave one of the kids a Latino last name. But they were all white Jewish kids playing the parts in the show. And then I lived in a Latino program house my sophomore year at Wesleyan. It was called La Casa. It was such a dope house; you had to write an essay to get in about why you were a Latino community leader, and that was the first time — this was my version of your experience — there were kids whose parents owned bodegas, and there are kids whose parents were both Wesleyan alums and they always knew they were going to Wesleyan and they’re Latino, but they’ve got the code switch down easy like I do. And it was inspiring — like, we could make a Marc Anthony joke before the English-speaking world knew about Marc Anthony, and it was also coinciding with when Ricky Martin did “Cup of Life.” It was the Latin pop boom, suddenly Marc Anthony is singing in English, Enrique Iglesias was a thing — I was figuring out these things about myself at the same time that the world was figuring out that we had something of value to offer, musically. Oh, look at you guys.

These were some of the perfect storms that led to In the Heights. One of the other parts was The Capeman, which was going to be the great brown moment in musical theater, and it lived and died my senior year of high school. I was directing West Side Story; I wanted a life in this business. And there was this show written by fucking Paul Simon, starring Marc Anthony and Ruben Blades, two of my heroes — it just came and went. And it was us as gang members in the ’50s, again. It’s like, two musicals about Latinos and they’re both about the same fight. And so a part of me was just fueled off of that — we should be able to be onstage without a knife in our hand. Once. So that was a big creative fire.

The other real shit was that my high school girlfriend and I were still dating and we should have broken up like two years prior. And she suddenly went to study abroad, and then I had all this fucking time and angst about where we were and what we were doing. So there was this sad love story that took place in Washington Heights and I used hip-hop and I used the same cocktail that ended up in the final product. It was this love story about these two people who could never be together, because that’s what I was going through in my head. And so all of that formed to help make that first draft of In the Heights. I’ll never forget, there’s a scene when Usnavi [played by Miranda] and Benny [Christopher Jackson] are freestyling on the street and they’re rapping and looking out and seeing the audience physically go like this [mimics perking up]. Yes, they liked the show, it was well received at Wesleyan, but I saw a physical reaction on the hip-hop numbers. And was like, Oh, this is some new shit.

I remember seeing In the Heights, but I also remember that in-between period. Living in the Village, going to Le Poisson Rouge to see your group Freestyle Love Supreme perform. But by 2012, I remember beginning to think, with regard to you, Was that it? And I know if I thought that, there had to be some extent to which you thought or felt that. Because so much of In the Heights is that classic first-album thing, where you put your entire life into that first thing, and then it’s like — so do you have anything left to say?

I was pretty Zen about it, honestly. Well one, I had the idea for Hamilton when I was still in In the Heights. So, again, impossible to overstate: The success of In the Heights gave me a life as a writer, a career as a writer, it said, “You belong here.” Nothing will ever do for me what that show did — from broke to not broke — in every respect.

But you actually felt like you belonged on Broadway?

So that’s the interesting thing: When my wife and I got married in 2010, we went on our honeymoon and — again — I have the idea for Hamilton, and I wrote the King George song on our honeymoon without a piano around, and then when I got back from our honeymoon our producers were like, the show’s closing. So that was the starter pistol of Oh shit, I won’t have a show running on Broadway, which was my steady source of income. But at the same time, I was a big film buff growing up. And the book whose advice I really followed concerning that “first album-ness” of Heights was Robert Rodriguez, Rebel Without a Crew. And he said, “Just don’t let them know what your sophomore project is.” And he just went and did a bunch of random shit. He did Four Rooms. And he did a Showtime movie. And he did so many random little things that people couldn’t just say, “Well, when’s your next movie?” So I did this West Side Story translation. I cowrote the Bring It On musical. And I did each one — it was never in my soul and bones to write a musical about cheerleading. But I knew I’d learn a lot watching Andy [Blankenbuehler] direct and writing with Tom [Kitt], who to me is one of the best melodists of our generation. Watching him think through an idea and see it go through his filter — it was like, Oh, I’m going to learn some moves.

It was a way to stay sharp.

That, absolutely, but just learning new shit. I had to write backward for Bring It On, because Andy was so specific about the tempos of the songs he wanted. I’d start with the tempo, I’d start with BPM, and he would be like, “ca-ca-ca-ca-ca, ca-ca” and I would write that down, and then build a song backward from the rhythm, as he had it in his head. Which was great, because now I know how to do that. I knew I had Hamilton in my pocket and I knew I needed to focus and time to get it done, and that was the hard part, because I have a family and I’m trying to support them.

Yeah, it’s hard to just stop.

But Do No Harm was like a writing residency for me. It was a bad NBC show and I was sixth on the call sheet and I took the job because I was like, it shoots in Philly and you’re going to be killed off in the 11th episode. So it was like signing a potential seven-year contract, which I was not interested in doing or going to L.A. I wanted to have time to write. I would have days free in Philly to write.

NBC Miranda in ‘Do No Harm.’

Act 2: Richard Rodgers Theatre, Saturday, 6:15 p.m.

Even before you’d finished Hamilton, were you already writing a character with Chris Jackson in mind?

He was always George Washington. He’s just got that moral authority. He had it as Benny. In the beginning, someone was like, “Why do you have Chris playing this Lothario? Chris is so much more interesting than the character you’re writing.” So once we started writing for Chris, it became this R&B sound within the Latino thing, and it totally elevated the character. So this time I started with Chris. We didn’t know if Chris was going to do it, but it was going to have Chris’s skill set. You’re going to be able to spit and then sing an R&B ballad, like he’s this mash-up of Common and John Legend, fused into one person.

A reality of this musical is that there are many standout characters that are not your character. People come away from it raving about Daveed Diggs’s portrayal of Thomas Jefferson.

That’s most people.

Like, maybe he did Thomas Jefferson better than the actual Thomas Jefferson. And Leslie Odom Jr. as Aaron Burr.

I stupidly gave him a lot of the best songs.

Just layups.

“Wait for It” and “The Room Where It Happens” are two of the best songs I’ve ever written in my life and he got them both.

It doesn’t feel like the Alexander Hamilton show, as in you and some background singers.

I don’t know how to do that. Heights wasn’t like that either. Usnavi is the narrator, but he’s offstage a lot of the time. I honestly think it’s because school plays were my way into theater. I think I’m always subconsciously trying to write the ideal school play. Lots of parts for everybody, great parts for women — don’t forget, more girls try out than boys in the school play; everyone gets to be in the school play. When this gets done in high schools, they probably won’t double the parts. So you’ll have two different actors to play. I think it has an enormous amount of resonance to double the way we’ve doubled, but it’s a way to get more people in the school play. But it’s interesting: With Heights, we studied Fiddler on the Roof a lot. That’s the best way to introduce an audience to a community that’s ever been written. So what can we learn from that? And there’s a lot of similarities between our opening number in Heights. With Hamilton, it’s not about a community. In the abstract, it’s about the creation of America, but it’s about this fucking one guy who just blazes through. Born, keeping score, and counting time. So we studied Sweeney Todd a lot. And we studied Gypsy a lot. Shows where the structure is, there’s one fucking character and they’re a life force and you’re either an obstacle or you’re a friend but get the fuck out of the way. But at the same time, it’s so much fun to get to write about these people we think we know, because they were in a history book. And be like, oh yeah — Jefferson’s going to be dressed like Morris Day. And that’s all Paul [Tazewell]. The leaps they took from the music into the other departments are so incredible. I grinned so hard when I saw Andy’s staging for this at first, and they introduced Jefferson and he’s walking down the staircase and everyone’s scrubbing the floor. They got it, before I even had to say anything. Like, yep — there’s Jefferson, talking eloquently about freedom while a slave shakes his hand and he goes like this [looks disgusted]. That’s Jefferson, write more eloquently about freedom than anybody, but didn’t live it.

There are some artists — Kanye West stands out — who treat music secondarily to telling stories and changing people’s perceptions of things and fucking with people’s heads.

But even if you hear him describe his music, he talks about it like paintings. It’s visual for him. Which I found really interesting. I saw some interview with him where he was talking about creating the beats and he’s like, “I’m making a painting here.”

When it comes down to it, if you had to pinpoint one thing, is it making musicals? Is it telling stories? Is it filling in the gaps of American and New York history? Is it being part of a musical theater lineage that connects you to people like Sondheim and Hammerstein?

Well, I’ve learned an enormous amount from that lineage, quite literally. Getting to work with [Stephen] Sondheim. Getting to talk to [John] Kander. Getting to talk to Sheldon Harnick. These are the guys that do it the best. That’s the thing the theater affords you. I don’t think Hollywood really affords you that, or even music. Because everyone kind of works in their own world. There’s a Nashville world, there’s an Atlanta world, there’s an L.A. world. But everyone that’s the best at this works in these blocks. These 15 blocks. And so I’ve been the beneficiary of an enormous amount of knowledge from that. I’ll tell you, the person I talk to the most about the show is John Weidman, who wrote the book to Assassins and Pacific Overtures. And I have emails to him where I’m like, “I’m getting lost in the research and I feel like I’m fucking drowning.” And he was super encouraging. And I think that’s just true of musical theater. I talk about this with Tommy [Kail, the director of Hamilton] a lot. Directors don’t ever get to work together. Like, there can be collegiality, but they’re all up for the same gigs. I can’t write Next to Normal. I can’t write Fiddler. It wouldn’t come out of me like that. And I also think because composers know they have to collaborate for the theater, composers for the theater are among the most generous creative artists I’ve ever met. Because there’s no competition between me and Bobby Lopez, you give us the same assignment, we’re going to write two totally different things. So we could just be friends and talk about that shit. And so, I find it a very welcoming world. And a world to learn from.

That being said, there’s other shit I want to write. It’s interesting, I think of it as, What’s the thing that’s not in the world that should be in the world? Heights is very much like, there should be a show with Latino people where we aren’t gang members and drug dealers, because that’s been super well represented already. We’re good on that. What’s the other thing? With this, I read that book [Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow] and it was such a perfect marriage of form and subject, and it was like, this music is the only way you can tell this guy’s story. You could do a Les Mis–type musical about Hamilton, but it would have to be 12 hours long, because the amount of words on the bars when you’re writing a typical song — that’s maybe got 10 words per line. Whereas here we can cram all this shit in all the margins. One of the last things I wrote for the show was one more fast rap for Lafayette, before he hands off a letter. Because I had Daveed. And he’s just the fucking best. And there was an opportunity. It was just them vamping, like, “Get your right-hand man back, unh, get your right-hand man back [scratches].” And it was like, no — we will fill that with stuff. It’s like Mad Magazine, where Sergio Aragonés is drawing cartoons in between the cartoons. There’s a lot of that in the show. I could just fill it with everything I think I know and the story allows that because it’s such a rich story. So, OK, I’m going to write a “Peter Piper”–type rap for “Washington on Your Side” and have them all trading back and forth, yeah. It allowed me to make a paella because it’s so rich.

One of the great buried ledes is how it does come back to New York, how it comes back uptown.

A detail that I couldn’t get into the show. It ends with Eliza [Hamilton] and it’s all about her 50 years alive after Hamilton died. Something else: Eliza established the first school in Washington Heights.

Really?

Yeah. And we had a line. And I put it in, where it was like “the first school” — and they went, in Washington Heights. I took the melody from my own shit in In the Heights, but it was just too on the nose. You just can’t. Even though it’s historically true, I can’t actually say “in Washington Heights” at the end of my fucking show. But it was there to be mine.

You didn’t even make it up.

So imagine, I’m reading this book. And then I read that in the closing chapter. It was a confirmation — I was supposed to do this.

I did find it fascinating that one of the artists you’ve cited as a musical influence, and you can hear it from time to time, is Outkast. For me, Outkast did what both Rent and Wesleyan did for you: They taught me I could write and that I could write about home. Part of my job is to tell a story about my home when I’m not there. Because once you leave, you become a representative of what a lot of people know about a place, and people are going to take cues about a place off of what they get from me.

You’re an ambassador.

They gave a lot of people that confidence to do that about their home. That’s part of their arc.

They’re our Lennon and McCartney. They’re hip-hop’s Lennon and McCartney. Down to the double album where they each do one thing, which was like the “White Album.” And you’re just grateful that they did shit together as long as they did.

I’ve always treated everything we’ve gotten in recent years as playing with house money. Just grateful for anything.

I remember one of my best friends from high school played me Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, when I was too young to even fully absorb it. What I knew was all East Coast hip-hop. And nothing else would go into my brain, like, my body rejected it, was like “I don’t know what this is.” I literally don’t understand what’s happening, didn’t process it. And then Aquemini came out my freshman year of college. And it was the soundtrack of college. And then by Stankonia, it was all I listened to.

This may be a tangent, but I think about Andre 3000’s verses on all these random songs as these little orphans. Like someone needs to put them together. Like, “Sixteen” on the Rick Ross album is the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard in my life: “while I’m jelly beans descending / into the palms of a child,” like what the fuck is even happening? And it’s hiding inside a Rick Ross song. And “Walk It Out.” And “Pink Matter.”

How did you decide to essentially make Hamilton without dialogue?

We actually went down the road with a playwright. There’s a version of Act 1 where we had songs and they were the songs that are in the show, but we found that if you start with our opening number, you can’t go back to speech. The ball is just thrown too high in the air. So then the challenge for me became, how do I write scenes that still have this hip-hop feel? And that’s when I would listen to “Friend or Foe” by Jay Z on a loop. And like, most people if they’re writing hip-hop for theater, think it needs to sound a certain way. And that’s where growing up with hip-hop actually comes in handy, because we know it contains everything. I can write the most conversational, Reasonable Doubt–era Jay-Z: “Don’t do that, you makin’ me nervous / my crew, well, they do pack / them dudes is murderers.” That level of conversationalism is what you’re trying for in the scenes. But then there’s the songs that are heightened.

Something that happens so often with minority figures, in the arts or otherwise, is this sense of responsibility. Have you wrestled with that? I’m sure you felt it in In the Heights, too.

I did, and I got pitched every Latin-themed anything that was coming from anywhere. So, we’re not Hollywood actors, in that we do the thing once and then we hope they like our movie in a year. We’re chefs. And not like Raekwon, like we got a five-star review and you’re coming to see our show tonight and we’ve got to cook the same meal for you that we cooked for the critic that gave us the five-star review. It has to keep going, and it keeps you humbled. I’m drinking this shit that’s fucking terrible with parsley and lemon and ginger and swiss chard, because it’s good for me. Because you have to keep making the meal. Just the work of that is humbling. But the relaxing two hours and 45 minutes of my day or spent during the show, because I’m not supposed to be doing anything else but that. Everything else is crazy.

Good crazy or bad crazy?

Just, Gerard Butler standing next to Justice Kennedy crazy.

It’s famous person Mad Libs.

Every night is Mad Libs. But also, you don’t ever want to get used to it or take it for granted. You want to be pinching yourself the whole time. There was a rapper that was supposed to be coming — not going to give his name up because he’ll come eventually. Anyway, they were trying to get him in, it was tough to get him a ticket, I helped get him a ticket, I literally kicked a friend out. And then he didn’t show. And I found out like 15 [before the performance]. And I spent the opening number pissed off. I can’t fucking believe I kicked my friend out for this rapper, and then I was like, “I don’t ever want to be the guy who is in my hit Broadway show and mad because the most fam— one of the most famous rappers ever isn’t there. I have to get that shit out of my system.

Check your priv.

It was the ultimate check my priv. I almost got hit with a chair [during] the number and I was like, “OK, check your privilege.” I can’t be in that headspace and make this thing. So doing the show keeps you honest, keeps you humble and focused and grounded.

This interview has been condensed and edited.

This post has been updated to correct one name and clarify another. Tom Kitt composed the music for Bring It On, and Tommy Kail is the director of Hamilton.

Big news from Hollywood yesterday: The next film featuring Academy Award–winning actor Jamie Foxx has been revealed. That film: Groove Tails.

I learned this via another human saying it aloud in my direction, and then I was asked to guess what it was about. I was fairly certain I knew the entire plot, but never forget homophones is cray. I thought it was Groove Tales, as in a midlife crisis film starring Jamie Foxx as the newly divorced Melvin, who, after years of working his way up through the ranks at Goldman Sachs (and, in turn, not giving enough time to his marriage), starts over and experiences single life — which quickly sees Melvin getting his groove on with a heaping helping of mates, leading him into a downward spiral of sex and drugs and clubs, and then he dies.

But it was Groove Tails. So I asked for one more piece of information. What I was told, by Deadline:

The story, set in the world of competitive street dancing competitions, but for mice, follows “Biggz”, a mouse deep in debt to a local club, hoping to clean up the streets from a group of menacing alley cats, and get the girl.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Immediately, I knew exactly how this movie was going to play out. I think about this precise film plot biweekly. But since I refuse to spoil all of Groove Tails, I will limit my insight to how I’m sure it begins, a key scene in the middle, and a hint at the dynamic ending.

Opening

Narrator: “Biggz never knew when to call it a night. It was true his whole life, even when he was a little mouse baby. It was part of the charm that Biggz would be known for throughout Cleveland. ‘There goes that boy Biggz. He never knows when to call it a night, which — I must say — is part of the charm that Biggz is known for throughout Cleveland,’ a mouse would say as Biggz walked by. Whether it was one more hand in spades, one more drink at the bar, or one more episode of The West Wing on Netflix, you could count on Biggz to push it further than anyone else. This got Biggz many friends, but occasionally it also resulted in an assortment of enemies.

Last night, Biggz knew he should have gone home. But, again, he didn’t. And what happened resulted in enemies who would forever alter the course of his life.”

[Cut to the previous night, as we enter the mouse after-hours club at 4:30 a.m.]

Biggz is drunk. But not bad drunk — fun drunk. He got a late start to the night and is catching his fifth wind. In classic Biggz fashion, all he wants to do is dance. Also, he got a text that one of his old crushes, Dianaz, is at the after-hours. Biggz and his boy, Tomz, walk into the place, and it’s a good scene. Full, but not too full. Smoky, but not too smoky. Loud, but not too loud.

Biggz spots Dianaz and they start talking. And then they start dancing. And then they start making out, just like two drunk-in-love mice often do. They’re in the corner and it’s getting pretty hot and heavy. As they’re up against the wall, however, Biggz bumps into a lit candle. That lit candle falls into a garbage can. The fire grows in the garbage can, and then the garbage can catches on fire, which soon causes an entire wall to become engulfed in flames.

Biggz sees what has happened (and what he may have caused) and looks out to see if anyone has noticed. Three gigantic rats in tuxedos are staring right at Biggz and Dianaz. The three giant rats are furious and look as if they’re about to come right at Biggz and Dianaz. But before they can begin their approach, a wooden plank from the ceiling falls between them and immediately catches on fire. It’s clear this place is about to burn down. Biggz and Dianaz make a run for it to avoid burning to death and to escape from the trio of gangster rats. The two disappear into the night and head back to Biggz’s house, where — in a fit of emotion and passion — they make crazy mouse love, hoping to forget about the traumatic experience they’ve just been through.

The next morning, Biggz wakes up and Dianaz is gone. His first assumption is that she left for work, but then remembered Dianaz doesn’t work on Tuesdays. A little puzzled, and very hungover, he walks into his kitchen to make some eggs and sees a note on the table.

Biggz is horrified. “I never know when to call it a night, which — I must say — is part of the charm that I’m known for throughout Cleveland,” he says. His questionable ways had finally come back to haunt him, in the form of a $2 million debt to the wrong rat guys, as well as the abduction of his boo-thang Dianaz. And to top it all off, he has only six hours to remember how to battle-dance.

He knew how — it was part of his dark past. But he has long put those days behind him.

If he were going to do this, he’d have to confront his demons. Dig into his former self. Call up some old friends. And do whatever it took to get the money, get the girl, and get these menacing rats off the streets of Cleveland, once and for all.

The Middle

It’s an hour until the competition. But his crew is motivated.

And strong.

And talented.

And they’re almost ready.

The Ending

I’ll go only into limited detail so as not to ruin the buildup from the first three hours and 15 minutes of the film, so just know that the ending is darker than anything you could ever imagine. Nothing can prepare you for how Groove Tails ends. I’ll just say this: There will not be a Groove Tails 2. And the club may or may not ever get rebuilt. And Biggz may or may not end up with Dianaz. And Biggz’s crew may or may not win the competition. And, in an insane turn of events, all the cats in Biggz’s crew may or may not kill all of the rodents (Biggz, Dianaz, Tomz, and the three rats).

Congrats to Jamie Foxx. Can’t wait to see this film come to life.

Saturday nights are special.

They’re consistently my only true night of the week to do exactly what I want. These carefree nights can happen, in theory, on any night, but Saturdays are when they happen most often, with the fewest consequences. Fridays also used to be like that — remember Friday nights? Unfortunately, the weight and stress of the workweek typically rears its head around 8:30 p.m. on said Friday, causing the body to crave a night of Blu-ray and Chill, regardless of whether you obey your body’s wishes.

I say all this because I care about what manifests on my Saturday nights. Which is why this past Saturday was notable, because I acted very out of character. As in, I left Brooklyn at 6:30 p.m., en route to Newark, New Jersey. And I did this act of self-treason alone. And I did this for work, to cover a concert. And I did this alone, for work, to cover a concert by Korean pop boy band BigBang, a group from which I had heard only one song prior to my trip, and that song I had heard only twice, and I wasn’t even convinced I liked it.

The assignment self-haze is a part of my occupational DNA. I’m no stranger to it, for it also takes me to amazingly dark places that result in occasionally fun pieces for a reader who lucked out by not being the one who trolled themselves.

My approach to Newark’s Prudential Center was by car. And as the car got closer, I realized that I was surrounded by fewer and fewer normal cars. To the front, to the back, and immediately to the right of me, limousines. SUV-size limosines. I felt like a chemistry teacher tailing drunk students to senior prom. What should have been horror in this realization actually begat humor. It was clear I was about to walk into a madhouse. When I got out of the car and attempted to find will call, all I could do was find new lines of people. And each line was long, but none was the line I needed. Sometimes, as I got closer to another line of people — people who always looked younger than me, but weren’t always “young” — I would occasionally hear English being spoken. Typically, however, I didn’t. Because I knew this was a boy band, I expected the gender split to be about 90 percent female, 10 percent male. From what I’d seen, however, it was pretty close to 50-50. There was an excitement in the lines, but also a panic. Because this show was set to start at 8:00, it was 7:50, and there were probably a thousand people outside.

Will call was a poorly marked door. And for some reason no one was going into this door, but a long line was positioned in front of it, waiting in the general admission line. Feeling the rush of adulthood and an obnoxious “I don’t wait in lines”–ness come over me, I walked right to that door, opened it, and confidently walked in. About 50 kids in line followed me, which caused mayhem inside. I turned around and gave the security lady an apology shrug as I went to get my ticket.

By the time I’d entered, it was 8:05. I was told the show was starting exactly at eight, but its running late was welcome and not surprising. I needed a drink, and maybe two, and was happy to learn there was zero line for every alcohol kiosk in the arena, because teens. As I paid for my two very cold tallboys, I heard the first arena-wide shriek. It was showtime. Turning to look for a stairwell, I was almost knocked over by a crew of eight teens racing to their seats. Their faces weren’t filled with joy but with terror — the terror of missing a second of BigBang.

I felt bad for them but even worse for the hundreds of people still outside. Who knew when they were going to get in?

When I asked a guard how to get to my seat, I was told to find the escalator. But I couldn’t find it, so I took the stairs — which led me to the wrong floor, which was probably why she told me to take the escalator. As I stood on the wrong floor, however, I had a balcony-like vantage point on the entrance, which was an ebb and flow of people racing to their seats, screaming at the air. It was incredible.

And then, just like that, a second arena-wide scream. It must have been song two. I needed to get to my seat — I didn’t come out to Newark to miss a concert, after all.

When I made it up to the third level and walked into the arena, very little made sense.

The lights were mostly up, the room was half full, and, most importantly, no one was onstage. There was a music video playing and people were singing to it, but that didn’t add up to the insanity I heard as I wandered the halls of the Prudential Center.

Two minutes later, when that music video ended, it all made sense. Another music video started and the place erupted, as if the five BigBang members were actually onstage. This increasingly filled room was freaking out over very large music videos. Because of course they were. Because this was a boy band, after all, and that’s what happens. It was almost as if I didn’t grow up on TRL and witness what happened when Brian and Kevin would walk up to the glass three floors up from the street and just look down, causing teens to scream, and then cry, and then faint.

This was becoming a salvageable Saturday night. Five more music videos played, and each time, the reaction was the same when the music video began, but each time louder because by the fifth video, general admission was packed and the available seats were nearly filled.

When the lights finally dimmed, they — we — were ready. It’s rare to find you’re in the middle of a phenomenon but have no idea what it is. Suddenly, it was pitch-black, and everyone down below had some sort of light source that they were ready to wave. And then the strobe lights appeared, followed by some second cousin of “Zombie Nation,” which I later learned was just BigBang’s first song of the evening, “Bang Bang Bang.”

Sitting there in awe for the next five minutes, I couldn’t get over the song, their live spectacle, their moves, the crowd, and the overall eccentricities of each member.

BigBang is made up of five members: T.O.P., Taeyang, Daesung, Seungri, and G-Dragon. All five are in their twenties, so none are actually boys. And you can tell that when you watch them perform, because they very much have the confidence of adults. But not in the “let me shed my boyish innocence” way (which would pertain to them, since they’ve been a unit since 2006). More in the “we’re fly, and we know that because we’ve been told that by little girls, grown women, little boys, and grown men, the end” sense. As a group, they have found a sizable amount of success, winning awards in Korea, Japan, and throughout Europe. In the United States, G-Dragon has had the most crossover appeal, but throughout Asia all five have found success beyond BigBang, be it in music, acting, or as personalities.

As BigBang, all five can sing, all five can dance, and a few (most notably, T.O.P. and G-Dragon) rap. And they do all of these things very well.

Three songs into the show, I was completely sold on BigBang. And I had 16 songs left. But as my interest increased, it wasn’t really because of the songs (only a few words throughout this show were in English, just to give some idea of how good things have to be when you don’t know what is being said at you). To put in plainly, it’s because they are the perfect boy band for 2015.

When it comes to boy bands, there are rules. And certain rules can never be broken, even if they are highly inefficient. One of those rules is that each member of the band gets a moment. Obviously, some bands have true stars and what ends up shaking out is a lead member and backup singers, but at some point, even the lowest member of the boy band totem pole gets some moment to do something. And not because of fairness for him — because even that last guy is someone’s favorite.

And that fan paid good money to see their favorite have a moment in the sun.

BigBang followed these rules, almost to a fault. On three occasions during the concert, a good 10 minutes was dedicated to each member walking up to the front of the stage, with the other four looking on, and giving the crowd similar prompts.

“How are you, New Jerz?”

“I Love Jerz.”

“Make Some Noise”

“I Love Your Energy”

“You Give Us Energy”

“Jerz”

Even by the fifth iteration of this, the fans did not tire. And that’s because BigBang is at equal strength at each position. It’s terrifying how good each member is. It’s like the ’92 Dream Team starting five, but with unlimited R1 turbo.

When you watch it for the first time, you want to immediately think of the Backstreet Boys or ’N Sync or Boyz II Men or New Kids on the Block or New Edition, but none is the right comparison.

If BigBang has one evolutionary ancestor, it’s most certainly the Floaters.

You see, the Floaters are not the greatest boy band/man group of all time, but “Float On” might be the most beautiful creation a group of four to five boy-men with equal talent have ever made. It’s a simple song, with each member getting a verse of equal length, with the “Float, Float On” hook between each. But as each begins his verse, he alerts the world to his astrological sign, followed by his name, followed by what he offers the world (and how he wants to take you to Love Land).

First, Ralph.

Aquarius and my name is Ralph
Now I like a woman who loves her freedom
And I like a woman who can hold her own
And if you fit that description, baby, come with me
Take my hand, come with me, baby, to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing love with me, I want you to

Second, Charles

Libra and my name is Charles
Now I like a woman that’s quiet
A woman who carries herself
Like Miss Universe
A woman who would take me in her arms
And she would say, Charles, yeah
And if you fit that description
This is for you especially

Third, Paul.

Leo and my name is Paul
You see I like all women of the world
You see to me all women are wild flowers
And if you understand what I’m sayin’
I want you to
Mmm, take my hand
Come with me, baby, to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing love with me, I want you to

The first three are great. And some people’s person is Paul or Charles or Ralph. I know this because I have aunts. The fourth verse, however, while not enough to overwhelm the other three, is admittedly a standout.

It’s Larry.

Cancer and my name is Larry, huh
And I like a woman
That loves everything and everybody
Because I love everybody and everything
And you know what, ladies,
If you feel that this is you
Then this is what I want you to do
Ooh, yeah, take my hand
Let me take you to Love Land
Let me show you how sweet it could be
Sharing your love with Larry, listen

To be fair, G-Dragon is probably Larry from the Floaters. But in the same way Paul, Ralph, and Charles are also beloved and not far behind (and the favorites of many in their own right), so are T.O.P. and Taeyang and Daesung and Seungri. I know this because I watched and listened to the individualized screams from their constituencies, whenever it was their time to make a statement, rap a verse, do a dance move, be the center of attention.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M–CfrcMcY0

This equal spread of adoration and talent and style that BigBang has is what makes them a great boy band. But what makes their presence perfect in this moment is that they buck one of the main tenets of boy band-dom: the crutch that is choreography.

Let it be known: BigBang certainly has choreography. And when they do it, it is clean and sharp and very appreciated. But when BigBang really gets going on a song, they are not front and center, doing the same moves. They are covering surface area, doing their own moves, dripping with their own concoction of indivudualized swagger, each living his best life off in his own corner of the stage.

It was truly a sight to see — a boy band that in reality is a supergroup. In one song, you have G-Dragon doing the nae-nae, T.O.P. calmly standing with his cane holding court, Taeyang running up a catwalk in a manic way, Daesung jumping up and down, and Seungri off doing moves with the background dancers. Whichever caught your eye, you were suddenly looking at the coolest guy in the room and the most talented guy in the band. Watching it, I understood why their audience was made up of people who could only dream of being them or being with them. And as they went through their catalogue, doing both group BigBang songs and solo numbers, hopping from rap to R&B to pop to EDM to dubstep to a country-esque ditty to a song that I swear could be the no. 1 Christian rock song in history (“Wings,” the solo song by Daesung), they found a way to be everything. They found a way to make it seem like Drake, Usher, Katy Perry, and Taylor Swift concerts all in one night. It was quite a sight to behold.

As I walked out of the show, I didn’t know what to do. Standing with a group of friends and fellow music writers, I began to word vomit excitement. As I spoke, one response to my excitement was this:

If you think they’re good, you also have to hear the new BigBang, Teen Top.

I was disgusted. I didn’t want to hear that. I wasn’t ready to “explore the genre” right now. I was #BigBangHive now, and I wanted nothing more than to embrace this moment, this show, these men, this perfect Saturday night.

I have this friend named Felipe.

He’s a great man. A strong man. A smart man. And at his most indifferent, still a life of the party. Someone who can be sitting on a couch for two hours, hear a song he likes, walk onto the dance floor, dance to two songs — thereby changing the tone of the entire evening for many present — and then go sit back down and chill.

When I run into Felipe at night, and we’re both out, and there’s music playing, and there’s a dance floor, and a certain song comes on, and there’s something resembling a circle — or really any empty space with scattered humans — I know he’s going to get after it, which gives me full clearance to get after it.

It’s unclear if either of us has any dance moves, in the literal sense. But in the moment, when all of those late-night planets align, there are few people who dance better than Felipe. And in that same moment, one of the few people present who can match him — in my head — is me. And as I look around — again, in this moment — the assortment of goony friends I arrived with or knew would be present are also dance-peaking, doing their own hyper-personalized creations, existing always on beat, filled to the brim with confidence in their movements, feeling spectacular.

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Twenty seconds into watching the video for “Hotline Bling” by Aubrey Drake Graham, the first thing I thought was, Oh wow, that’s Felipe. And then I kept watching and was like, Oh shit, that’s Matt. And then I kept watching and thought, Oh Lord, that’s me.

It’s a great video in the sense that he pulls off dancing the way one would in a crowded setting — your vulnerabilities calmed by the crew that surrounds you that is also doing their own version of dancing — by his lonesome.

The first “Internet opinion” I saw about the video prompted me to click in order to see “silly Drake dancing.” I clicked on the video but, oddly enough, saw nothing silly. There’s nothing silly about the dancing in “Hotline Bling.” This is just dancing. Riddle me this, author of Internet opinion, what else is someone supposed to do to this song while listening to “Hotline Bling” and existing in a James Turrell biodome?

Every single move that emanates from Drake’s gray one-size-fits-all ensemble is arguably the only thing that is supposed to be happening. That slow, crouched-over thing he did to “you used to, you used to” — yes. That side-to-side heel-toe later in the video — of course. Those occasional slow-motion movements — I mean, have you ever listened to music while standing up? That Chris Tucker as Michael Jackson head and arms and neck thing — OBVIOUSLY.

What your are witnessing is Yung Aubrey Bautista absolutely feeling himself, a concept that should not be met with any negative connotations. With that said, that also has very little to do with actual quality. The idea of feeling yourself does not necessarily imply that the dance moves are great. Feeling yourself is simply when you could not be any more a fan of yourself and how you look and what you are doing and, in turn, what you are giving to the world in that moment.

It’s that feeling when you start dancing, and then stumble on a move, and then really like that move. When this happens, chances are you’re going to dig into it more and more with each sidestep. Each time, a little more knee bend. A little more head nod. A little more sass. A little more attitude. A little more goddamn. These aren’t theoretical concepts, these are actual facts of life.

In this video, you’re seeing the confidence of someone who’s been going to the same bar every other weekend for three years. It’s post-posturing. It’s when you show up in sweats at 1 a.m. because you can. It’s how you dance when a public space becomes your living room. You’re beyond needing to impress strangers, because you’re not the stranger — everyone else is.

Very few of us have the talents of a Chris Brown or Usher or Ciara or Beyoncé. If your dancing skills resemble these people, by all means be a superior mover and distance yourself from the world by any and all means necessary. But contrary to popular belief, the next level on the rung down from “really good dancer” isn’t a “pretty good dancer.” Because there’s nothing worse than a “pretty good dancer.” Because the hallmark trait of a “pretty good dancer” is “someone who is actively trying to be a really good dancer yet isn’t.” And that person is the worst (and if you don’t know this to be true, that person is you). If you aren’t an amazing dancer, the next-best thing is to be an on-beat dancer whose moves create a blissfully irrational confidence in self. Dancing in a way that is often ridiculous, never threatening, and increasingly makes you feel fly-er than the song before.

A less obvious reason this video is startling — beyond the dancing, and the lights, and the REI turtleneck — is that on Drake’s end, we actually see him, unedited, for long periods of time. Music video editing can make the most uncomfortable, near-pubescent artist seem exceedingly cool. If you look at Drake videos from years past, a constant is a patchwork of short clips filled with rapper bravado that are cut and pasted together to form a cocky rapper. You’d typically see him do one or two motions, and then a quick cut, and then he’s somewhere else, doing something else slightly cool, and then another cut and — poof — he’s either back to the former place or a third location, doing something else that some people characterize as cool.

This isn’t Drake-specific. Music video directors are magicians in making all artists look more interesting than they are. In Drake’s past, much of his dorkswag appeal (and in turn, overall confidence in everything) came from editing rather than personality. Looking at someone move and dance and exist for a lengthy period of time, however, is completely different. They have to carry it — in a way that editing can only enhance but not fully control. And with fewer cuts and longer one-take stretches come more room for scrutiny (or, in some cases, praise). This video goes beyond dance ghosts of Drake’s past (like that dumb Yeet-like arm-across-body thing as he’s jumping, or that other dumb thing where he kind of rotates like a compass with the elbow and it’s kind of a “Bye Bye Bye” ‘N Sync thing with the fist pump). The Drake portion of this music video begins with 28 straight seconds of unedited Drake doing things. These are new waters for him: not just the dancing, but consistently existing on camera, with help from no one, needing to be interesting the entire time.

The video for “Hotline Bling” is a good sign if you’re invested in Aubrey Drake Graham, the performer. An obvious weak spot in his repertoire is the live performance, in the sense that he doesn’t have a library of classic performances like a Kanye or a Beyoncé. But then again, those are two people who can interestingly move and exist, alone, for long stretches of time. With Drake, the idea of whether the moves are good and cool is subjective, and to each their own. (They’re phenomenal.) But the fact that he’s doing them, or anything at all, is what you want to see.

It’s like the old saying goes, ’tis better to feel yourself than to not feel at all.

Welcome back to our series Rembert Explains. Every so often, 28-year-old Rembert Browne will watch a video from the past. Rembert will write down his thoughts as he’s watching the video, then we’ll post those thoughts here. This week is the final installment, selected by Rembert Browne: “Unleash the Dragon” by Sisqo, from the year 1999. If you have an idea for a future episode of Rembert Explains, it is unfortunately too late.

(This is not the first time I’ve written about this video on Grantland. In one of the early YouTube Hall of Fame posts [date: October 26, 2011], this was my blurb pick for “The Worst Music Videos of All Time.” Feels right to go long on it, four full years later.)

0:02 This video is already more expensive than it should be. Two seconds in, there has already been the sound of a helicopter, an aerial shot, and an actual crowd.

0:08 Why did all of these people show up for this video? I’ve never seen so many people make such a bad decision at the same time.

0:11 It’s so upsetting that instead of just doing a music video they tried to make this into a “movie.” This is what happens when you have the “Thong Song” and then get the green light to release more singles that were never supposed to be singles. Releasing “Unleash the Dragon” after “Thong Song” is like getting good at football and then just assuming you’d automatically be good at poetry.

0:19 Yes, this is a barricade and news crew, for Sisqo. A LOCAL NEWS CREW.

0:22 What a time.

I want to be very clear about something: I love Sisqo. He was the lead singer of one of the most underrated R&B groups of all time, Dru Hill. Every time I watch the video to “5 Steps,” I cry, especially when THAT DOVE COMES OUT AT THE END AND THEN SISQO KNEELS — LORD LORD LORD.

But this song is inexcusable. And this video absolutely takes it over the top, in the sense that maybe he (and everyone involved) should have gone to prison as soon as it was finished.

0:25 People really brought flags to this Sisqo block party like it was Glastonbury. Unreal.

0:27 I haven’t seen this video in years, so there are going to be quite a few Sisqo realities that I forgot existed. Like the chain.

Also, WHY THE UNDERSCORE AFTER “DRAGON”? I’m already getting pissed off.

0:28 Just as a reminder, it’s almost been half a minute and there has not been any music. Also, why are human beings helping Sisqo put on his jackets like he’s Jed Bartlet or something?

0:29 Imagine being the recipient of sunglasses from Sisqo and him not even looking at you. Just absolutely disrespectful.

0:37 Sisqo finally sang something — “the dragon” — in Sisqovoce. Also, he spun a microphone around his finger, which I can’t make a GIF of because it’ll give me a computer virus.

0:38 It’s at this point in music history that Sisqo begins one of our biggest buildups and then immediately lets down humanity like we’ve rarely ever seen. He hits us with the spoken word:

What I’m about to do
I’m sure nobody expected
But that’s what I do

Y’all know me
Right now
I’m about to release the dragon
Uh, uh, come on

0:55 And then the drop:

Here I come
N​-​-​-​-s hold me back

Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Nothing is funnier than this. I’m sorry. Nothing. I’ve never seen someone be less intimidating in their most intimidating life moment than what Sisqo does right here. He lost the battle before the minute mark, and there are still six more minutes.

HERE I COME. N​-​-​-​-S HOLD ME BACK — I NEED OXYGEN.

One of the best parts is the crowd reaction. They love it. “GO SISQO WE LOVE YOU” they’re probably screaming as he berates them with HERE I COME / N​-​-​-​-S HOLD ME BACK.

1:02 I feel like this is definitely Ben Carson’s go-to song in karaoke.

1:03 He has more lyrics. And not a single one should be overlooked.

Tired of holdin’ back
I’m about to let the drag’ attack

It’s too much. Fun fact: The “Unleash the Dragon” video is the prequel to Red Tails.

1:10 One of the notes I made in that 2011 blurb about “Unleash the Dragon” was about the probable plan leading up to writing the lyrics: “Sisqo should say the N-word more than 70 times.” Through 70 seconds, he’s very much on pace:

Bugged out n​-​-​-​-s
Thugged out n​-​-​-​-s
I don’t really care
You all my n​-​-​-​-s

And wouldn’t you know it, the crowd loves it. But it’s almost as if he wants the crowd to take him more seriously, but they’re not — PERHAPS CAUSING ANGER THAT MIGHT, IN TURN, CAUSE HIM TO UNLEASH THE DRAGON.

1:11 In case anyone was wondering what record label Sisqo was on at the time:

Yep, the answer is, in fact, Def Soul.

1:16 Sisqo has made it to the chorus, but he’s still so serious. And he’s on his balcony, with his Red Tails dancers, singing and dancing, begging the crowd to take him seriously. But they won’t; the crowd is just smiling and cheering from below. He’s assuring them, “Y’all n​-​-​-​-s gon’ make me / unleash the dragon.” But they’re not listening. Then he’s all, “I know you don’t really wanna / unleash the dragon.” But still, they’re just so gleeful, happy to be at a Sisqo concert. But what they don’t know — a fact that Sisqo clearly knows — is that this is bigger than any normal concert. The stakes are at an all-time high.

1:18 The ground begins to shake, causing everyone to become a very bad actor.

1:28 The sudden quakes are getting so bad that Sisqo stops singing. Not dancing, however, as he and the Red Tails would never slow down. No one can really know, but I feel as if the seismic disturbances are slightly connected to this dragon Sisqo keeps talking about.

1:47 Around this point of the song/video, it gets unnecessarily bad. It’s the point when the video fully takes over the song; the commotion of the scene is three times louder than the lyrics and the music, which is enhanced only because Sisqo is barely singing anymore — since, you know, this video is real and all.

1:56 This is so bad. Sisqo goes three seconds without singing, and then just screams “OH NA NA NA.” How did this happen. How the hell did this happen?

1:59 Uh-oh.

This could be bad. Also, most of the crowd has been launched to the ground by what the newscaster with the slicked-back hair is calling “an earthquake.” But I have a feeling Sisqo is the only one who’s thinking, Wait, this might not be an earthquake, in which case I really might have to unleash the dragon.

2:08 BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE.

THAT’S A DRAGON, LADIES AND GENTS.

3:10 A full minute goes by of this dragon just destroying everyone on one city block, stepping on cars and punching buildings while various terrified people say, “OH SHIT.” Where’s Sisqo? Very unclear. Is this still a Sisqo video? Very unclear. Is there any music left? Very unclear.

3:12 The only thing more puzzling than a dragon?

Tatyana Ali. Don’t try to make sense of it. Just accept what has happened. Tatyana Ali is about to be the damsel in distress for Dragon Sisqo in this seven-minute movie that could have been a Vine.

3:26 Oh, hi, Sisqo, how nice of you to join us in your own music video — NOW MIGHT BE A NICE TIME TO UNLEASH THE DRAGON, BRUH.

3:40 What happens after Sisqo sees Tatyana down by the dragon is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. First, Sisqo yells “HEY!” at the dragon as if he’s in Newsies and it’s like c’mon, son.

After this dragon-unleash of a scare tactic, the dragon looks right at him and Sisqo says, “What do you think you’re doing, scaring people, stepping on cars?”

The dragon breaths on him, launching Sisqo back to the doorway, and then out of nowhere the music starts again and he just sings “OH NA NA NA.” It’s almost as if this were done in one take, no script, and everyone had just been molly-waterboarded.

3:46 “I know you don’t really wanna” —Sisqo, covered in dragon saliva, to the dragon.

4:11 This dragon, obviously very post-Sisqo, begins to start swinging at him, like the gnat that he is. Luckily for Sisqo, he is really good at front flips.

4:41 The next 30 seconds are really dark, even by “Unleash the Dragon” standards. After all of this, they had the nerve to unleash two rap verses by two rappers whom I refuse to look up, both of whom are wearing snakeskin outfits wrapped in turkey bacon.

And for those of you who are concerned with the dragon-tearing-up-the-city plot, yes, this verse is taking place in a room that the dragon just destroyed. And no, they are not concerned for their safety, because the room assuredly has Cristal.

5:00 Here is your five-minutes-in Sisqo-in–The Matrix update, for anyone still sick enough to be reading this:

This is also the moment when I realize this is the greatest video of its time. It’s like seven different nightmares stitched together, brought to you by the infinite budgets of the late ’90s.

5:20 Sisqo’s doing flips and avoiding being killed by the dragon, but I also just remembered that Sisqo has that belly tattoo. Just didn’t want to leave that out.

Also, Sisqo is getting his little ASS kicked, but doing it in style.

That shot alone cost more than Whiplash.

6:00 If you hadn’t guessed, Sisqo ends up defeating the real dragon by unleashing his inner dragon. What, exactly, is his inner dragon? Dancing the dragon to death.

First he does his heroic moves:

And then he puts on his shades (this time, on his own).

And then he runs under the dragon, causing it to fall in an alley, the end.

Yes, that’s how he defeats the dragon and saves the world. Like every first-level boss of a video game, he just confuses it and it dies. Wow, some dragon Sisqo has inside. Good thing he’s so clever when his black outfit turns red and he becomes the dragon, out-dragoning an actual dragon. Thank god for Sisqo.

6:33 What Sisqo does next … just sit down before you read the next line. It’s actually too much, the nerve he has at this moment.

“SISQO. N​-​-​-​- WHAT” —DRAGON SISQO TO THE DEAD DRAGON.

We’re not worthy.

There’s a little bit more in the video, but it’s mainly just Sisqo calling other dragons “n​-​-​-​-s.” I’m so glad this terrible song and this terrible video happened. Without it, a third of my lifetime tears never would have left my eyes. Thank you, Sisqo, for continuously carrying me to the gates of Valhalla every time I push play on this work of art.