It’s midnight at the MGM recording studio and Sammy Davis Jr.’s on the mic. Rat Pack gathered in blueberry silk Armani suits, Dark chocolate leather booths, Shou Pu-erh tea in mahogany mugs, red velvet vocals crooned into a Shure SM56. Word to the sound engineer is: turn up the earth and spice. Fade in the quatre épices. Let the sweet black sesame echo. Then Sinatra’s looking your way and calling for backup vocals. You might’ve come to sweep the floors, but you’ll leave as a superstar.