It took nine months for D.R.A.M.’s “Cha Cha” to reach Beyoncé. By the time she endorsed it on Instagram in May, the viral track was on its way to becoming a bona-fide hit that would go onto inspire Drake’s “Hotline Bling” as well as Erykah Badu’s “Cel U Lar Device”, and land its creator a major-label deal—not bad for a lark based on a screwy Super Mario sample. An antidote to hip-hop’s self-seriousness, “Cha Cha” is nothing less than a universal party anthem; the music video finds the rapper/singer dancing with both friends and aunties while gatecrashing a white family’s taco night.

“Cha Cha” evokes the side of hip-hop that has long encouraged listeners to dougie, crank that, stanky leg, and, more recently, dab and nae nae. But there’s no barrier to access or dance moves to know—there’s space for the rhythmically-challenged on D.R.A.M.’s dancefloor. Beyond the sonic comparisons between “Cha Cha” and “Hotline Bling”, you might also consider that D.R.A.M.’s carefree ethos served as spiritual inspiration for the video that made a million (more) memes out of Drake.

The song is anchored by D.R.A.M.’s sparkling, supple tenor. This rasp is the 27-year-old’s secret weapon, the signature that suggests he is primed to outlive his viral flash. It’s all over the best moments from his two eclectic 2015 EPs, #1Epic and GahDamn!, and its roots trace back to D.R.A.M.’s years singing in church and community choirs in his native Hampton, Virginia. “Growing up, the music I liked aside from rap was funk and soul—that authentic shit you can’t Auto-Tune or correct on the BPM because it was made naturally,” he explains. “That shit that makes you ball your fist up, close your eyes, raise your head, and shout it out—that's soul.”

Born Shelley Massenburg-Smith, D.R.A.M. describes Hampton as culturally segregated, which made it difficult to connect to a local arts scene. So what really gave him drive was hearing songs by fellow Virginians on the radio. Hampton shares its 757 area code with Virginia Beach, Portsmouth, and Norfolk—cities where culture-shifting artists like Missy Elliott, Timbaland, the Neptunes, and the Clipse got their start. “There’s something in Virginia’s water,” says D.R.A.M. “That 757 shit means no rules.” He remembers rapping his first bars in middle school as his friends banged out the trash-can beat for Clipse’s “Grindin’”. “That song came out and changed the whole country,” he says. “But it was extra special to us because it was really Virginia.”

Now, as D.R.A.M. tries to capitalize on his his surge of virality to find a place amongst music’s mainstays, he’s gaining some valuable support IRL: Chance the Rapper just brought him on a massive North American tour, and Beyoncé met him in the studio. Meanwhile, his tenacity in confronting the “Hotline Bling” comparisons—“Yea, I feel I got jacked for my record… But I’m GOOD,” he tweeted—shows a certain resilience and independence in an era of back-patting co-signs. "You miss all the shots you don't take," he muses.

Pitchfork: Do you think your music would have been received the same way five years ago?

D.R.A.M.: Oh, hell no. Because hype is real. Buzz is real. I’ve stayed in the same vein of music ever since I knew what I could do, but I never really had the tools to put it out to the masses like I do now. I can send you the YouTube link of the music I did then; it’s called “Sexaholic Anthem”! I produced it, recorded it, mixed it, and there’s a picture of me with short hair and a fucking hat cocked back and an ugly-ass graphic that says “Drama J.” Also, in 2010, I was working at Bank of America.

Pitchfork: After the viral success of "Cha Cha", do you worry about being seen as a gimmick? 

D: Absolutely not. It doesn’t define me as an artist, as many have come to find out. “Cha Cha” blew up and it’s still standing because it’s a dope-ass song. It’s that one record that, in its simplicity, became profound in our culture. It's like a phrase, a lifestyle. I have features and more work that’s going to be dropping soon. If you listen to GahDamn! in its totality, you will know it’s lit. 

When someone gets passed that mic and they know deep down inside that they wanna say something or sing something or produce something but they don't do that, it's like killing your musical life. It's suicide. That's one thing I definitely have learned in this music shit. As soon as I feel something, I act on it. I gotta stay true to my feelings, you know?

Pitchfork: I’m not sure if a lot of people have that kind of courage in the music industry.

D: I want to inspire people to gain it if they don't have it and to find it again if they lost it. Any form of art is political if you make it that way.