On the ground floor is a recording room with a ton of audio gear, a wall of guitars and racks of outlandish garments spouting sequins, fringe and feathers. “Those are Ben’s,” Lewis notes. There is a kitschy velvet painting of a bald eagle, an oil painting of Drake dancing and a transfixing rendition of a naked Justin Bieber with maple syrup pouring down his chest onto a pancake balanced on his boner.