Genesis (1983)
1.Mama
2.That's All
3.Home By The Sea
4.Second Home By The Sea
5.Illegal Alien
6.Taking it all Too Hard
7.Just a Job to Do
8.Silver Rainbow
9.It's Gonna Get Better
By 1983, Genesis had finally shed their last vestiges of cult status. No longer the darlings of college radio or the progressive elite, they had crossed the Rubicon into full-scale superstardom. Their transformation wasn’t sudden—it had been building steadily since Duke—but with this self-titled release, there was no turning back. Phil Collins had become a household name, and one suspects more than a few casual listeners were under the impression that Genesis was his backing band. DJs frequently referred to tracks as “Phil Collins… and Genesis,” and nobody much bothered to correct them.
Naming the album Genesis signaled something more than a simple branding decision. It reflected the band’s new modus operandi: collective songwriting, born entirely in the studio, with nothing prepared in advance. Whether this approach yielded superior results is open to debate, but there was a palpable sense of unity and spontaneity to the proceedings. Hugh Padgham, by now a trusted collaborator, returned to the producer’s chair and once again brought a sharp, modern gloss to the band’s sound—especially noticeable in the percussive dynamics and meticulous layering of synths.
Yet for all its radio-friendly sheen, Genesis contains moments that hark back to the band’s more exploratory past. Mama, the album’s arresting opener, remains one of their most peculiar—and popular—tracks. A slow-burning, menacing number driven by drum machines, eerie keyboard textures, and Collins’ unsettling cackle, it resists conventional structure until the real drums crash in halfway through. It’s hardly commercial in the traditional sense, yet it became a fan favorite and a live staple, despite being almost impossible to categorize.
Elsewhere, Home by the Sea and its extended companion Second Home by the Sea offer a rare glimpse of the old Genesis peeking through the pop-era curtains. The former is a tight, narrative-driven piece, while the latter morphs into a six-minute instrumental workout that showcases the band’s enduring musical telepathy. In concert, the two were always performed as a single unit, giving Collins a chance to reclaim his drum throne—and reminding audiences that Genesis hadn’t entirely forsaken their progressive roots.
Much of the remainder of the album leans toward pop craftsmanship. That’s All, with its breezy, Beatlesque sensibility, was the band’s first U.S. Top Ten hit—an achievement that surprised no one and perhaps pleased fewer still among longtime fans. It’s an undeniably charming track but lacks the idiosyncratic fingerprints that defined Genesis in previous years. Perhaps tellingly, it would not endure in the band’s live repertoire.
Illegal Alien enjoyed a brief moment as a minor hit, thanks in part to its then-humorous, now-unpalatable video. In 1983, it passed as cheeky satire; today, it would likely be met with raised eyebrows at best, full-blown cancellation at worst. The less said, the better—though any judgment should be tempered with historical context rather than moral outrage.
Critics at the time decried the band’s full turn toward the commercial, but the internal harmony among members was evident. This was not a sell-out but a pivot—a conscious evolution embraced by all three remaining players. Genesis is not their most adventurous album, nor their most profound, but it is arguably their most cohesive statement of what the band had become: a trio comfortable in their own skin, willing to court chart success without wholly abandoning their identity.
It is, in the end, a portrait of transition—polished, confident, and curiously human.
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