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.
Bruce Springsteen was right. At the risk of simplifying the value of this impressive box set, giving away the main storyline of his new biopic, and flattening decades of mythmaking, the reality is just what Springsteen always claimed. Even when he tried the material with his closest collaborators, using some of the strongest songs he had ever written, the most powerful version of Nebraska is still the one he recorded at home in Colts Neck in January 1982. Just a lonely man in his early thirties with an acoustic guitar, a TASCAM PortaStudio, and an Echoplex, capturing solo demos for what he thought would be a full-band project. Everything that came after was an experiment.
But what an experiment it turned out to be. For those who don’t know the story, here it is in brief. After the success of his upbeat 1980 single “Hungry Heart” and a long streak of relentless touring and critical praise, Springsteen entered one of the most creatively intense chapters of his life. He began by writing the grim ballads and shadowy lullabies of Nebraska, which he then tried to recreate with the E Street Band and in solo studio sessions before ultimately choosing to release the home demos. He did no press and no tour, which left him free to keep writing, and that work became 1984’s massive commercial hit Born in the U.S.A. During that time, he tossed aside enough songs to fill multiple albums, later shared through collections like Tracks and Tracks II: The Lost Albums. He also found time to help revive the career of early rock’n’roll icon Gary U.S. Bonds, co-writing and co-producing two comeback records, contributing a Grammy-winning song to Donna Summer, and hitting the gym with enthusiasm.
It might sound like a golden moment, but for Bruce, it felt like a creative cage—the kind of brooding, restless chapter that inspires a filmmaker to cast Jeremy Allen White to play you on screen. The twist is that the most crucial moments, from the original Nebraska to the electric and explosive version of “Born in the U.S.A.,” happened quickly and naturally, before anyone could complicate the process. Unlike anything else in his official catalog, Nebraska 82: Expanded Edition offers a clear window into that moment. Within this tight collection is a sharper, more complete image of one of Springsteen’s most legendary and personal records—still the one he treasures most—along with rare insight into his creative rhythm.
The set includes a newly remastered version of the album, a disc of solo acoustic outtakes carrying the same raw emotion, the legendary Electric Nebraska sessions, and a live album and film capturing Springsteen performing the record start to finish in an empty New Jersey theater earlier this year. The live material feels reverent, with beautiful support from former Bob Dylan bandmate Larry Campbell. The remaster reveals that, despite the album’s association with the birth of lo-fi, the sound is richer and more intentional than much of what followed. Listen to the last half minute of “Atlantic City” through headphones and focus on how the acoustic guitars, mandolin, and background vocals fade away layer by layer. It’s a reminder of how much careful craft went into creating such stark beauty.
Unlike his earlier box sets for Darkness on the Edge of Town and The River, this one isn’t about showcasing how many different paths he could have taken. It’s about sharpening the vision. Where Nebraska is known for its unbroken mood, Electric Nebraska jerks between heartland laments and roaring rock songs across its eight tracks. These takes feel like rough sketches more than finished recordings—mostly Springsteen on electric guitar and vocals, Max Weinberg on drums, and Garry Tallant on bass—hinting at an album that could have been more accessible and mainstream in 1982. And yet, this raw version of “Downbound Train,” with its clanging rhythms and unsettling bridge, may be one of the strangest things he ever put to tape.
It’s easy to see why Springsteen thought these sessions didn’t work. Versions of “Open All Night” and “Johnny 99,” which on the original album burn with desperate energy, sound here like something a bar band could fall into with a casual count-in and some good-natured rockabilly riffs. On one hand, it highlights how his delivery gives shape and gravity to his songwriting. (Compare the early acoustic “Thunder Road” to its triumphant album version for proof.) On the other hand, slipping into different musical skins was a key part of his process then. He could turn something as playful as “Pink Cadillac” into a moaning, shadowy reflection of itself, as if the character had returned to earth wrecked and hollow, fixated on one thought.
For devoted fans, these shifts are what make the box set essential: witnessing how songs like “Working on a Highway” transformed from a chilling ballad called “Child Bride” into a loud, laughing, raucous number. Some of the outtakes, like the quietly devastating country song “Losin’ Kind,” have been passed around unofficially for years. But this set also reveals two entirely unheard songs: “On the Prowl” and “Gun in Every Home.” In the first, he ends with a dizzying repetition of “searching,” drenched in slapback echo that mimics the sound of a live band. In the second, he paints a nightmarish portrait of suburban life and ends with a bare, defeated admission: “I don’t know what to do.”
Within a single song, Springsteen might take the role of a killer hiding in the dark or a runaway on the move, either escaping or facing the question of whether being caught is actually a strange kind of salvation. That’s the point of sitting in the dark: you can’t see the exit. Yet sometimes he caught brief glimpses of where it all might lead. Along with the original demo tape, Springsteen sent a letter to his manager, Jon Landau. He went through each track, detailing the grim subject matter, floating arrangement ideas, and occasionally letting a sliver of optimism shine through.
He scribbled a note next to “Born in the U.S.A.,” which appears here in two early forms: a heavy acoustic blues and a full-band rocker stripped of its later synths, leaving no doubt about how the narrator feels. “Might have potential,” he wrote. That small spark of belief carried him through. He knew these songs would take work, and that truly understanding them would take time. But he also trusted that at the end of each hard-earned day, there would still be magic in the night.
