by someone who knows, listens, and still gets floored every time he picks up a guitar

Let us nitpick the mind of a musical genius—although if you called him that to his face, he’d probably laugh and shrug it off. Not out of false modesty or some rehearsed humble brag. Genesis Sunga simply doesn’t think of himself that way. He’s not chasing recognition or validation. The only thing he’s ever really chased is the next riff, the next line, the next song that needs to come alive.

He doesn’t even try to explain his songwriting process—because truthfully, I don’t think even he fully understands it. You can’t predict how he works. You can’t judge the way he writes. Because the riffs, the melodies, the gut-punch lyrics—they come from somewhere deep inside. They arrive like instinct. Sometimes he just picks up the guitar and something happens—and what comes out is heavy, emotional, sharp, and real. Watching him play, watching him create, is like watching someone breathe in a different language.

And here’s the thing most people don’t expect—behind this master of emotionally charged metal, this storm of sound and feeling, is a kid at heart. Genesis is a full-blown nerd, but not the kind buried in textbooks or theory. He’s a Voltes V kid. An Ultraman fan through and through. He grew up watching Godzilla stomp through Tokyo and Jurassic Park rip its way across screens. That sense of awe and scale—the heroism, the chaos, the epic battles between good and evil—it’s all there in his music. There’s a cinematic, larger-than-life quality to the way he plays and writes. He doesn’t just write songs. He builds worlds.

But let’s rewind a bit. Genesis didn’t start with dreams of fame or awards. Like many of us, he picked up the guitar for the simplest and most honest reason: he had a crush on a girl. To impress her, he started learning. But what started as a teenage crush turned into a lifelong devotion. Somewhere along the way, he stopped trying to impress anyone. He just fell in love—with music, with the guitar, with the feeling of getting lost in sound.

He wanted to study at a music conservatory. He dreamed of diving deep into theory and composition. But in a world where art is seen as a hobby for the rich, and not a “real” career, Genesis was pushed to take a different path. Practical. Stable. Secure. Like many of us raised by cautious elders, he was told: “Music won’t pay the bills.” And maybe that was true at the time. But passion finds a way.

He never let go of music. He found other ways to learn. He taught himself. He listened obsessively. He broke down tracks from Paul Gilbert, Mr. Big, Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Dream Theater—and then crossed over to the emotional depth of Ebe Dancel. His musical palette grew wide and deep like the oceans he loved watching in monster movies. From the technical madness of shredders to the poetic pain of local legends—he absorbed it all. And it shows.

He even played with rock legend Mike Hanopol. You’d think that’d be a defining moment for him. But nah—Genesis doesn’t brag. If you bring it up, he’ll probably just smile and talk about how cool it was to play with people who love music as much as he does. That’s the thing—he’s in this for the love of it. The grind. The sound. The feeling.

But the road hasn’t always been smooth.

There was a time when he wrote a song—something honest, maybe too honest—and showed it to his old bandmates. Instead of encouragement, they laughed. Called it “potpot.” Like it was a joke. That crushed him. The passion flickered for a while. The fire dimmed. But it never went out.

Eventually, he reached out to his longtime drummer friend EL—his brother in rhythm since 2007—and reconnected with a former student who had grown into a guitarist in his own right. Together, they built something new from the ashes. They called it Captain Jack PH.

And in a beautiful twist of fate, the song that once got mocked—the “potpot” of the past—is now streaming on Spotify, with over 10,000 plays and counting. Every time someone listens, it’s a quiet revenge. A victory. A reminder that what others laugh at might just be something the world needs to hear.

Captain Jack PH isn’t just a band. It’s an outlet. It’s a stage for Genesis to channel every heartbreak, every rage, every soft and unspoken thing. His metalhead brain is always working. Not just on the technical side, but on the emotional side. He doesn’t write to show off. He writes to say something.

When you talk to him about music, he lights up like a kid talking about his favorite toy robot. He speaks of his band with deep love, like they’re family. He can explain a breakdown inspired by Dream Theater and then immediately follow it up with how the vibe reminded him of an Ultraman battle scene. It’s all connected in his head—and somehow, when you hear the final product, it all makes sense.

Genesis Sunga is a man of layers. He’s got calloused fingers and a soft heart. He riffs like fire but speaks with the gentleness of someone who never wants to take up too much space. He’s the kind of musician who makes you believe that maybe—maybe—music can still be about the soul, and not just the numbers.

He doesn’t care about being a genius.

He just cares about making music that means something.

And for those of us lucky enough to hear it, that’s more than enough.