There has never been anything shy about Genesis Yasmine Mohanraj’s music as Tommy Genesis. Known for her raunchy, sex-forward themes, she’s served up bars about popping cherries and demanding a good time from her lovers; sex, confidence, and self-assurance are her natural wheelhouse. So her newest project, GENESIS, marks a surprising departure, living up to its name by presenting a new musical avenue for the rapper. Here, she takes an introspective turn, exploring her lifelong struggles with rejection and nonconformity in songs that bounce between revisiting her upbringing—one dogged by uncertainty and exclusion—and reflecting on her present-day difficulties with the pressures of the public eye.
On GENESIS, Mohanraj introduces listeners to a softer side of herself, beyond the brash confidence of her previous projects: an artist who still views herself as a work in progress, one still searching for self-actualization and feeling the frustration of falling short of her potential. On “Archetype,” she considers her adolescent experiences of ostracization, manifesting a future self who will eventually surpass the limits of the boxes that she couldn’t fit into as a child. “Maybe I will step into my light/Maybe I will finally do what’s right,” she croons in her signature off-kilter flow, teetering right on the edges of the beat in her probing, if somewhat rambling, style. The album’s title track dives deeper into her struggles with the spotlight as she expresses the discomfort of being seen as an entertainer rather than as a person: “Thrown on a wall against the backdrop of a world and I know it hurts,” she sings on the downcast ballad, “that they can’t see you when all you see is Genesis.”
Mohanraj is of Swedish and South Asian descent, and her biracial heritage, along with questions about religion and sexuality, fuel the album’s explorations of identity. On “Butterflies & Diamond Chains,” she examines the relationship between her racial and religious heritage and her bisexuality over the strums of an acoustic guitar: “My skin, the outcome of immigrants/My mind, the sphere of sin/Mixed in with crippling thoughts of identity.” Though she does a lot of questioning, she rarely arrives at any answers; instead, she expresses herself through murky metaphors. On “Eve ate the apple,” a song rife with religious references, she likens herself to everything from the perceived sinfulness of Sodom and Gomorrah to a “cookie cutter stuck to the batter with glue.” While showcasing her penchant for allusion, this language often obscures, rather than clarifies, the weight of her struggles.
Despite these unique analogies, large sections of the project hover on the brink of forgettability. Breakout single “Girl’s Girl” is catchy upon first listen, but blends easily into the sonic monotony of modern TikTok sounds; its acoustic palette, soundbites of chirping birds, and dreamy bassline, alongside its hollow sentiments of social media-fueled relationship troubles and being a “girl’s girl,” seem designed to be placed as the backdrop for alternative, “aesthetic” summer outings and edgy day-in-the-life snapshots. The stripped-back production of “Gabriel,” meanwhile, fails to differentiate itself from the preceding track, “2 Wolves.”
Some of the album’s best moments are tucked into its final tracks, a reward of sorts for pressing through the album’s denser middle. The dance-pop “Baby are you okay?,” with its bass-heavy beats and Mohnaraj’s robotic, crossfaded delivery, picks up the pace as she cockily checks in on an ex she’s long since outgrown. The angsty, alt-rock production on “Homebound” compliments her stacked, moody vocals—some of the strongest on the album.
The genre-hopping explorations of the album’s ending tracks point to the creative versatility that’s long been one of Mohnaraj’s strengths. Though GENESIS feels, at times, both confusing and confused, it reflects the uncertainty of navigating life as a young adult. While she may not have delivered to her full potential, GENESIS indicates that Mohanraj has a meditative instinct that will urge her to reflect, repair, and readjust until she ultimately reaches it.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Canadian duo Softcult name their stunning first album after the well known Alexander Den Heijer line “When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.” That belief in brave transformation and choosing something healthier runs through everything Mercedes and Phoenix Arn Horn do. The twin sisters know that idea intimately after spending over ten years in pop rock outfit Courage My Love, before stepping away in 2020 when major label life began to feel too restrictive to survive creatively.
Softcult emerged soon after in 2021 with ‘Another Bish’, a sharp edged dream pop statement that made it clear they would not be boxed in. A run of four gritty EPs followed, steeped in Riot Grrrl spirit, alongside hand assembled zines, an intensely loyal online following and high profile support slots with Muse and Incubus. Each move has helped build a carefully protected DIY universe where honesty and release come first.
The sisters have never sounded more grounded or self assured than they do on their self produced debut ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Grow’. The album loosely traces the process of escaping systems of abuse, control and expectation, opening with the weightless ‘Intro’. From there, the grimy surge of ‘Pill To Swallow’ finds Mercedes confronting how bleak the world can feel in 2026 with the line “no more promises of better days”, while still choosing resilience over surrender.
‘When A Flower Doesn’t Grow’ is packed with songs that run on pure fury. ‘Hurt Me’ erupts as a blistering release that recalls Nirvana at their most savage, while ‘Tired!’ barrels forward as a no nonsense punk blast aimed at suffocating pressures, with Mercedes biting back “tired of the expectations, tired of your explanations.” Elsewhere, the hazy drive of ‘Naïve’ and the deceptively bright ‘Queen Of Nothing’ bristle with restrained anger, and the charging ‘16/25’ pulls no punches when calling out predatory behaviour. ‘She Said, He Said’ cuts just as sharply, its spoken word delivery flipping between mockery and menace to deepen the band’s guitar led resistance.
Softcult’s debut feels like a natural step forward from their spiky punk roots while also opening doors to new sounds. The loud soft swing of ‘Not Sorry’ bursts with relief and joy, marking the most carefree moment they have ever put on record. At the other end, closing track ‘When A Flower Doesn’t Go’ strips everything back, blending acoustic folk with scorched post rock textures. The duo sound at ease moving between these poles, but it is the fragile hush of ‘I Held You Like Glass’ that lands hardest, leaving room for vulnerability and quiet heartbreak to linger.
