"The track is high energy, but the visual needs to feel... untamed," Johnson said, adjusting the brim of his hat. "Like we’re the only two people left in a world that never sleeps."

The neon glow of the desert carnival bled into the midnight sky, a kaleidoscope of artificial pinks and electric blues. Jack Gilinsky leaned against the hood of the vintage convertible, the engine still ticking as it cooled. Beside him, Jack Johnson was already checking the camera settings, his silhouette framed by the distant, whirling silhouette of a Ferris wheel.

The Jacks shared a look, a silent acknowledgement of how far they had come from teenaged vines to this cinematic scale. As the crew began to pack up, the desert returned to its natural silence, but the song was still ringing in their heads, ready to be unleashed on the world.

"That's the shot," the director called out, gesturing to the playback monitor.