In March, many of us entered self-isolation with deluded hopes about how we’d fill our days. I was determined to limit social media use, conscious of both the anxiety that logging on can exacerbate and the relative privilege of having untold amounts of free time. But a couple of weeks in, longing for simple proof of the world beyond my Brooklyn apartment, I conceded. My lot, for now, is Instagram. Soon I found joy in checking in on strangers’ pets and babies, and warmth in the generosity of mutual aid groups and communal fundraising efforts. I popped into a couple of virtual parties where, for once, I could literally dance like no one was watching. Maybe most surprisingly, I actually had fun joining the hundreds of thousands of people who’ve tuned in to Swizz Beatz and Timbaland’s ongoing beat-battle series, known as Verzuz.

The concept is simple: Two producers or songwriters are pitted against each other on Instagram Live, where they go back-to-back with their biggest hits and most impressive deep cuts. It takes a bottomless catalogue and a little strategy to be crowned a winner, even unofficially; despite having scorekeepers, matches generally end as ties, though fans make their own decisions. Swizz described Verzuz to Rolling Stone as “a UFC frame of mind with creatives.” To CNN, he elaborated that he and Timbaland aim to “give the people some entertainment, give them some hope and also educate them. Because Versuz is an educational celebration.”

Depending on your vantage point, it can feel like either, or both. After Swizz and Timbaland’s inaugural battle last month, they quickly arranged a growing line-up featuring some of contemporary music’s biggest architects. Scott Storch and Mannie Fresh duked it out over late-’90s and early-’00s rap hits. Ryan Tedder and Benny Blanco broadened the scope of the series to include glossy pop. Ne-Yo and Johntá Austin competed in contemporary R&B. T-Pain and Lil Jon faced off with nearly two decades’ worth of club bangers. And, this past weekend, RZA and DJ Premier dropped an impeccable set of canonical hip-hop tracks; their battle brought in nearly a million live viewers, and best exemplified the series’ mission.

With low production value and an off-the-cuff vibe, the Verzuz battles are calibrated to feel more celebratory than self-important. Participants broadcast from whatever their home set-ups happen to look like, with varying levels of video quality. Timbaland danced in front of a stair stepper. T-Pain glistened under purple rave lights. The ever-eccentric RZA wore gloves and eschewed sleeves as anime played on a screen behind him. The battles are filled with earnest compliments, light-hearted ribbing, and generous storytelling. The rolling comments section on each battle have revealed that artists like Noreaga and Kelly Rowland are tuning in, too, alternately cheering, debating, and cackling along with the rest of us. In the past month, as the usefulness of celebrity seems to have reached its limits, it has felt increasingly natural to interact with artists this casual way.

Swizz and Timbaland, of course, did not invent the concept of a beat battle in hip-hop, a genre spiritually guided by competition. Formative performances in late ’70s and early ’80s were based in part on Jamaican dancehall sound clashes. Hitmakers like Kanye West and Swizz himself have carried on that legacy, facing off on huge stages. And in tiny clubs around the world, underground producers have long squared off in live beat-making challenges, an analogue to the more familiar rap battle. But in this particular moment, Verzuz has reshaped the concept for an audience seeking both entertainment and comfort, leaning into good-natured nostalgia to offer temporary respite.