New York writer/slayer Ernest Baker scored a social media shoutout the same cold February night the Instagram artist known as Champagne Papi surprise-dropped his mixtape-as-album If You're Reading This It's Too Late.
Then Baker scored a mind-bogglingly unprecedented amount of facetime with Drake for a pre-and-post-Coachella profile for Four Pins. This is the best adventure-profile since John Jeremiah Sullivan bushwhacked through Jamaica to sit before the prophet Bunny Wailer for GQ. Or since Gay Talese hung out with a snuffly Sinatra for Esquire back in 1966.
Before we talk about anything, just go read it. Tell your attention span to sit down, to take care, because nothing's gonna be the same after you devour this. You'll thank yourself later.
If your jerkoff attention span didn't listen, here are a few previews to get it to shut up and fall in line: At a party at Drake's palace, Baker hears that “If Kanye wasn’t in Armenia, he’d be here right now. He comes by all the time. He just bought a house, like, five houses down from me.” Also: There's a bigger-than-the-Madonna-makeout surprise coming at Drake's Part 2 Coachella set this weekend.
And from the Wildest Dreams Department, re: Drake's mysterious upcoming fourth album, Views from the 6:
"He only has two songs finished that he likes. One is a collaboration with Beyoncé that he recorded a while ago. The other is a song that he expects to inspire a paradigm shift. His days of releasing lay-up bangers that everyone loves right away are over. For now."
So go read the piece. You'll also hear: what it's like to interview Drake at his house while Drake bangs on the speakers (he does rap along, but he also ignores the tracks) till 5AM; what it's like to compare mom-notes with Drake; what it's like to text back and forth with Drake over and over; what it's like to watch Drake call his Coachella headlining set a dud.
Fine, one more treat, from Baker's VIP Coachella walkabout. But then you HAVE TO GO READ IT:
"I pass a woman in an ankle-length, powder blue coat. She's wearing sunglasses, smoking a blunt and her specter is intoxicating. I perform a very thirsty 180-degree turn when I realize that it's Rihanna. I walk up and tap her from behind: 'Yo, you're a goddess.' She assesses my general desperateness with one glance, silently ashes her blunt on the palm tree between us, turns back around and walks off without saying a word."