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This one starts where house actually comes from. Louie Vega and Julie McKnight, Cerrone, Lou Rawls, Dimitri From Paris — the records that were doing this before any of us got here. Then it grows up, puts on something tighter, and walks out the door.

Two hours. Forty-two records. Bob Sinclar shows up four separate times because that's just how the night went.

Somewhere past the halfway mark the divas take over — Adele, Shakira and Beyoncé, Ultra Naté, Madonna twice — and then it gets serious. A run of Tony Ruiz back to back to back, straight into my own WERK, and from there it stops being a disco and turns into a runway. By the time ARTBAT closes it out you're not dancing to the same set you started with.

This one's for the ones who know the history and still came to sweat.

Two hours. Start at the beginning. Don't skip.

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September hits different. The crowds thin out, the air finally cools off, and everybody left standing knows this is the last good weekend before the beach goes quiet.

So I'm not playing it safe.

This one moves — Brazilian funk into Depeche Mode, merengue into Queen, Marshall Jefferson right at the top and Masters at Work waiting near the end. The tempo climbs, drops out from under you, and climbs again. Nothing here stays where you left it. It's loud, sweaty, a little ridiculous, and built entirely for a room that doesn't want the summer to end.

This one's for the ones who close the place down. You know who you are.

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Don't ask. I'm not explaining it. -- haha

This one came together fast and stayed that way. No classics, no big emotional detours, nothing dressed up for the occasion — just filtered, greasy, bass-heavy house records stacked one on top of the other and mixed like I was late for something. Half of it goes by before you've had a chance to figure out what's playing, and that's the point.

There's a serious Wh0 streak running through this hour — Wh0 Plays, Wh0 Worx, Edible, all of it — plus Leopard Step showing up three separate times like they own the place. Somewhere in the middle a record just flat-out announces itself as house music, and I let it, because after last month's episode I figured we'd earned the follow-up.

This one's for the people who don't need a warm-up. The ones already sweating when they walk in.

Turn it up. Don't sit down.