BNYX® GENESIS FM Review: A Fake Radio Station That Actually Runs You

BNYX®’s GENESIS FM sells wellness skits and club pressure, then quietly proves his best tracks don’t need anybody talking over them.

Courtesy of Lyfestyle Corporation/Field Trip Recordings/Capitol Records.

The “radio station” intro isn’t cute—it’s a warning

The first thing GENESIS FM does is kick your door off the hinges with a skit. A radio host—Mandal, running the fictional station—barks orders like he’s running a bootcamp for people with fried attention spans: drop the phone, drink kombucha, stretch, stop scrolling. Under him, a retrowave synth stab cracks like a starter pistol. It’s not background color. It’s the album telling you, “I control the room now.”

And here’s the part that matters: that stab—that exact kind of quick, clean violence—is the same little weapon BNYX® has been tucking under other people’s songs for years. You can hear the muscle memory. This isn’t a producer “introducing himself.” This is a producer tired of being the invisible architecture.

BNYX® (Benjamin Saint Fort) comes out of a life that reads like motion: Delaware-born to Haitian immigrant parents, raised between Philadelphia and Upper Darby. The career arc is the modern producer ladder—Working on Dying in 2021, then a major step up to Capitol/Field Trip in April 2024—after leaving fingerprints on big records: Yeat’s “Talk,” a Drake-and-21-Savage cut, Lil Uzi Vert’s “Just Wanna Rock,” a Travis Scott single. The point isn’t résumé flexing. The point is you can hear a person who’s been inside other people’s spotlights long enough to know exactly where to place the lights… and exactly when to turn them off.

Arguable take: this intro isn’t worldbuilding. It’s BNYX® claiming authority over your body—your posture, your tempo, your dopamine.

The “Step” trilogy turns rap features into choreography

From there, the album jumps into a three-track run that basically acts like an exercise routine disguised as club music.

“HunchO STEP!” has Quavo arriving like he’s already mid-dance, already sweaty, already smiling for the camera. The chant—“Step to the left, step to the right”—doesn’t feel like a hook you sing; it feels like instructions your legs obey. The synth-pop arrangement is cinematic in a way that’s almost rude, like it’s scoring a scene where the club becomes a training facility. Quavo’s flexes (F1 coupe from Monaco, Rolex worth a Ric Flair figure-four, “hundred bands on the floor, make her touch her toes”) don’t land like arguments. They land like percussion. He’s not persuading you—he’s keeping the rhythm moving.

That’s the trick: BNYX® tightens the pacing “what’s happenin” style tracks usually leave loose. It’s wired. It’s cinched.

Then “Come on, girl, for goodness’ sake / Just tap my card, I’m getting bored” hits from Ledbyher, and the boredom actually matches the beat—especially when the kick lands off the downbeat like it’s trying to trip you on purpose. That off-kilter placement is a very specific choice: it makes impatience physical. You don’t just hear her being over it. You feel your foot hesitate.

“OVERLOADDD” closes the run with industrial-techno four-on-the-floor and distorted commands—“Hands up/Shake it/Hands down/Shake it/Let me see you move it”—and the kick is pushed through saturation until it starts distorting on its own attack. That’s not “heavy.” That’s abusive on purpose. It’s the same body across all three songs: same grid, same nervous system, same hi-hat logic. Different outfits.

Arguable take: these songs aren’t trying to be “bangers.” They’re trying to standardize your movement, like BNYX® is building his own default human animation.

“fuëgo” proves a feature pile-up can smother the producer

Then the album does the thing big producer projects always do: it lets the guest list start driving.

On “fuëgo,” three guest verses pile in and the producer underneath becomes—this is the depressing part—barely audible. Yeat raps “Big money, tall money, bitch, I’m next / Can’t compare-pare-pare what I do” over something that could pass for one of his own Working on Dying-ish environments. Peso Pluma slides in with “Veo muchos dígito’ en la bóveda… El Grammy clavado en el sur de Fra,” taking regional Mexican phrasing and riding it straight into rage-trap synths like it’s a totally normal commute.

Bizarrap shows up with a co-production credit, but the synths feel like BNYX®’s handwriting anyway—clean, bright, built for impact. The bilingual swing on the bridge earns the marketing copy. The producer credit situation… doesn’t exactly match what my ears are telling me.

I’m not 100% sure if this track is supposed to bury the beat—maybe the intention is to make the vocals the spectacle—but the end result is the same: it’s a crowd scene where the camera forgets the director.

Arguable take: “fuëgo” is where GENESIS FM starts acting like it’s scared to be a BNYX® album.

“luv yoU right” is the moment the album actually flirts back

The album regains its personality on “luv yoU right,” and it’s almost annoying how much better it feels when BNYX® stops trying to host everybody and just sets one scene well.

Chromeo handles the come-on with that polished wink: “Yeah, when lightning strikes, girl, we better catch it / Yeah, put it in a bottle like you can imagine.” Underneath, BNYX® gives it walking synth-bass, four-on-the-floor pulse, and funk guitar scratches—like a dancefloor wearing a dress shirt.

Then the writing turns dirty fast: “I could really love you right down if you hit me up / Sittin’ in the studio, thinking what I’d do to you.” It reads like a sext and, somehow, it arrives like one too—no buffering, no irony shield.

And then: Immanuel Wilkins, a jazz alto saxophonist, blows a real solo into the exit. You can feel the temperature change. The horn carries warmth that a synth pad would only imitate. That’s a smart trade—one of the album’s few moments that feels like human breath got invited into the machine instead of being sampled after the fact.

Arguable take: this is the album’s clearest win because it’s not trying to prove anything—it’s just built right.

The mid-album slump: when star power turns into dead weight

Here’s where I need to be blunt: there’s a stretch on GENESIS FM where it feels like the album forgets who it’s supposed to be about.

“TELEPATHY LOVE” floats in on airy electronic chord swells, a foggy synth-pad atmosphere that should be flattering. Instead it buries Clara La San’s hook before she even finishes: “Telepathy love / You’re telepathic and it’s turnin’ me on.” That’s not “dreamy.” That’s bad placement. A hook like that needs a pocket, not a blanket over its face.

Then “I wanna know ;)” brings Big Sean in with: “Fuck the datin’ scene, you’re better off damn near goin’ raw in a gloryhole.” I had to pause, not because I’m prudish, but because the line lands like a comment-section drive-by. On a major-label producer debut, it’s weirdly small. Like someone insisted on being edgy in the least interesting way possible.

“FANatic” has Beau Nox repeating “Yes, I’m a fanatic, you, yeah” while the same four-bar loop cycles unaltered. It’s the kind of repetition that can hypnotize if the loop evolves. Here it just… persists.

“Fallen” should be an easy layup: Don Toliver gliding over New Jack Swing-inflected textures, reverb-washed and melodic. He does his part—he always does—but the loop stays unchanged underneath him like the instrumental checked out and left him a spare key.

Six slots in this zone feel wasted. None of them need BNYX®. That’s the mild tragedy: the producer with the most specific rhythmic signature here is the one getting reduced to “competent loop provider.”

Arguable take: the album mistakes “feature = event” for “song = event,” and you can hear the difference immediately.

“Time is slipping away” is where the album finally tells the truth

Just when I started thinking the project was going to coast on branding, “Time is slipping away” shows up and makes the rest of the tracklist look a little guilty.

French accordionist Anatole Muster plays beside BNYX®—and the accordion is threaded into a jazz-chord progression while the drum grid stutters and ducks the downbeat. Pitched-up, half-modulated vocals mutter “Time slipped away from me, yeah” inside that grid. The accordion keeps picking up the chord changes like it’s calmly continuing a conversation the drums keep interrupting.

Then the kick drops out under it. And suddenly the groove isn’t about force—it’s about control. Smooth, held, intentional. The accordion doesn’t feel like “fusion.” It feels like someone finally let emotion into the room without putting it in quotation marks.

On my first pass, I assumed this album’s whole thing was going to be: skits + club programming + famous friends. On second listen, this track changed my mind. It suggests BNYX® isn’t chasing bangers—he’s chasing time signatures that feel like psychology.

Arguable take: “Time is slipping away” outlasts the album it sits on, which is both a compliment and an indictment.

What GENESIS FM is actually doing (and where it trips)

So what’s really happening across GENESIS FM? It’s pretending to be a radio station, but it’s acting more like a treadmill with a DJ booth attached. The best moments aren’t the loudest—they’re the ones where BNYX® makes the groove feel like a physical rule, then breaks that rule for half a second to remind you he can.

Where it trips is predictable: when it starts serving the guest list instead of the concept. The album has stretches where the producer—the supposed main character—gets reduced to “competent loop provider.” And that’s the one thing BNYX® absolutely shouldn’t settle for, because when he’s locked in (“OVERLOADDD,” “luv yoU right,” “Time is slipping away”), the sound is unmistakably his.

Arguable take: the album’s biggest contradiction is that it uses a fictional radio station to frame the project… then spends several tracks acting like it’s afraid of silence, afraid of space, afraid of being too producer-forward.

Conclusion

GENESIS FM works best when it stops auditioning for the approval of famous voices and starts acting like a producer album with an opinion about your body: where the kick lands, how the groove breathes, how tension gets released. When it forgets that mission, it drifts into glossy filler that could’ve been made by almost anyone with the right plug-ins and the right contact list.

Our verdict: People who like producer-led records that treat rhythm like choreography will actually enjoy GENESIS FM—especially if you replay tracks for the beat details, not just the guest names. If you’re here for “big feature = big song,” you’ll probably get bored and start scrolling again… which, ironically, is exactly what the intro told you not to do.

FAQ

• What is the core idea behind GENESIS FM?
  It plays like a fictional radio broadcast that’s really an excuse for BNYX® to control pacing—like a workout plan disguised as club tracks.
• Which songs feel most “BNYX®” rather than feature-driven?
  “OVERLOADDD,” “luv yoU right,” and especially “Time is slipping away” sound like the producer is steering, not just supplying a loop.
• Does the album overuse guests?
  Yeah—at points the guest pile-ups flatten the production, and a few tracks feel like filler where the beat stops being the main event.
• Is there a standout musical moment that isn’t just vocals?
  Immanuel Wilkins’ alto sax outro on “luv yoU right” brings real warmth that the synth palette can’t fake.
• What’s the most frustrating part of the album?
  When hooks get buried (“TELEPATHY LOVE”) or loops don’t evolve (“FANatic,” “Fallen”), it feels like the concept takes a coffee break.

If this whole fake-station thing got under your skin in a good way, an album-cover poster is basically the perfect souvenir. You can pick up a clean print at our store: https://www.architeg-prints.com