I don’t know who needs to hear this, but your brain is not broken, babe. It might just be a genius daydream.
I hit play on Jenn DeSantis’s new track and immediately felt like someone peeked inside my head and turned the chaos into synth-pop. The sound is funky and the theme is emotional. If you’ve ever stared at the ceiling at 2:43 a.m. while your thoughts raced, you’ll get this.
Jenn wrote Genius Daydream while she was supposed to be sleeping. Because of course she did. That’s when the noise gets loudest, right? The melody hits, the words start spiraling, and suddenly, you’re lying in bed composing a disco song in your head while the rest of the world is passed out. This is my mind, it’s not normal at all—no shit. But hearing her say it out loud like that? It felt like an exhale. Like, oh. It’s not just me.
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The song spirals in the best way. It’s synthy and slightly unhinged, like your favorite late-night thought loop set to a Zedd-and-Thundercat-flavored beat. Think Remi Wolf goes bedroom disco, with flashes of ELO’s sparkle and the emotional whiplash of early Gaga. But Jenn’s not copying anyone. She’s building her own damn world. One where you wanna go east but you wanna go, wanna go west but no no no—and you live in that contradiction with messy joy.
I can’t even pretend to be objective here. I felt seen in every single lyric. Tread water through the night / You don’t want to go / I don’t wanna spend the night—girl, we’ve all been there. Half in, half out, too tired to function but too wired to stop. And when she sings You know / I’m not what you think I am on repeat, it’s not just a hook. It’s a warning. Or maybe a promise. She’s not your manic pixie. She’s a pinball machine, and she’s about to explode.
There’s something bratty and brilliant about that line: Buzzy nacho bass daddy—I don’t even know what the fuck that means, but it hits. ADHD poetry. Gibberish and genius at the same time. Jenn’s brain is riffing at 200 bpm, and she just lets it go there. She’s not editing it down into something palatable or “productive.” She’s showing you the whole thing, full tilt.
And the chorus? Genius daydream, she’s gone flying—it’s like chasing your own mind and realizing you’ll never catch her. She’s always just a few seconds ahead, but somehow, you love her for it. She’s my darling. That line kills me. There’s love in it. Frustration, too. But mostly love.
Jenn only found out she had ADHD a few years ago, and Genius Daydream feels like someone throwing a glitter bomb at that diagnosis. Not hiding it. Not making it a pity party. Just saying—this is my brain, and it’s beautiful even when it’s a fucking mess.
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She’s still figuring it out, and you can hear that too. Off beat disco / Majora Mask Pro / Why can’t I just listen—it’s playful but sharp. Like she’s clocking her own quirks and turning them into art instead of shame. You can tell she grew up on Queen and Elton John and Florence. Not just in the sound, but in the drama. The camp. The refusal to make it small.
This is all self-produced. She’s the voice and the producer. Jenn’s been performing on Pride stages, doing big venue concerts, and headlining cities like Ottawa and Chicago. As a vocal coach, I can tell you she has range vocally and emotionally, and Genius Daydream proves it.
There’s a moment toward the end where it all comes together. The venue exits are sealed shut / And the clock’s already dead / Only way out / Catch me if you can. Like the show’s already started and your brain’s got you locked in for the ride. No intermission. No breaks. Just you and your mind doing somersaults until the lights go out.
If you’re neurodivergent, this track will hit you hard. If you’re not, it’ll still hit—but in that way where you realize someone else’s chaos is way more interesting than your order ever was. Jenn DeSantis isn’t asking for your understanding. She’s letting you peek behind the curtain. And it’s fucking electric in there.
