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
The leather jackets and skinny jeans worn by Noah Dillon and Chandler Ransom Lucy have become something of a signature, and the pair have hovered around the edges of the pop worlds in New York and Los Angeles for quite some time. First highlighted by NME during the Dimes Square resurgence in 2023, The Hellp have gradually stepped away from their earlier indie-sleaze imitation and leaned into something far more thoughtful. Their wild, neon-tinged party vibe has been traded for a more cinematic electronic approach that still holds onto a confident, self-aware attitude.
Dillon and Lucy started releasing music as The Hellp in 2016, with early mixtapes rooted in the chaotic nights and carefree behaviour once associated with NYC’s indie-sleaze staples like LCD Soundsystem and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Over time, though, they’ve earned a steadily growing respect from critics. That rise has come through both their underground gigs, which have included a show at London’s Corsica Studios with Fakemink as support, and through Dillon’s expanding visual work that recently reached Rosalía’s ‘LUX’ album and a pair of music videos for 2hollis.
As ‘Riviera’ approached release, the duo shared: “We knew our next project would need to be a bit more mature… we refuse to become stagnant. ‘Riviera’ is more solemn, restrained and impassioned than anything we’ve done before.” The finished album feels like Dillon and Lucy carefully balancing identity and openness, theatricality and direct emotion.
The lead release, ‘Country Road’, carries a late-night heaviness, the kind of confession you would quietly tell a friend in a club’s smoking area. Its lonely tone is surrounded by glitching electronics and a rising bridge that points to the exhaustion that follows endless nights out. Tracks like ‘New Wave America’ and ‘Cortt’ deepen what the duo mention in their liner notes as a “desperate story of the disparate Americana.” Both pieces broaden the album’s emotional landscape and offer clear-eyed commentary on reluctantly stepping into adulthood.
When ‘Riviera’ shifts into ‘Doppler’, the tone brightens for a moment as hopeful synths lift Dillon’s words about yearning and heartbreak into an emotional peak. And in the final moments of the record, The Hellp land on something instantly familiar to anyone who has drifted away from the club scene. The Kavinsky-like opening of ‘Here I Am’ nods to their early inspirations, while the closing track ‘Live Forever’ arrives with a slow, grounded maturity, built around Dillon repeating the line: “I don’t want to live forever.”
‘Riviera’ holds far less disorder than The Hellp’s earlier releases. This turn inward marks an important risk for a duo once fuelled by the momentum of a downtown New York comeback. By easing off the frenzy, The Hellp have stepped out of the party’s lingering haze and returned with a style that feels more refined and more aware of itself than anything they have created before.
