Rap has a visual codex: dark tones, heavy bass, leather seats, gold chains, cigar smoke, and nighttime cities seen from the height of a penthouse. The genre has long been accustomed to presenting itself wrapped in luxury, danger, cinematic severity—and the listener has grown just as used to it, the way you stop noticing the smell of your own home. You take it as a given. And when someone tears through that wrapping, replaces the neon sign with a paper star, swaps the armored Cadillac for a toy rocket, the first reaction is bewilderment. The second—curiosity. The third—an admission that you’re hearing something genuinely strange and genuinely honest.

Jeremie Soyan finds his stories in unexpected places. Guadeloupe—an island more commonly associated with the turquoise waters of tourist brochures than with school hallways where loneliness clings to you like gum to the sole of a shoe. It was there, amid the tropical postcard beauty, that an entirely different reality took shape: toxic relationships within school walls, daily confrontations with bullying, the feeling of complete invisibility to those around you. Jeremie pulled himself out of this crisis through music, relocating to the Metropolis to refine his style. And the result—four tracks packed into the EP ‘MISEDUCATION OF A SAINT BOY‘—turned out to be something hip-hop, it seems, was hardly prepared for: a vanilla, toy-cosmic capsule containing a very adult, very painful experience.

It’s worth pausing here to examine what exactly makes this EP so unfamiliar. The arrangements. The synthesizer lines in ‘MISEDUCATION OF A SAINT BOY’ sound as though they were lifted from the shelf of a Christmas ornaments shop—tender, shimmering, almost festive. Soft keyboard washes create the sensation of a cosmic lullaby. Unicorns, soap bubbles, sunrise bubblegum—all of these images surface from the arrangements on their own, organically, without force. And against this sugary wrapping, Jeremie Soyan recounts school traumas, the feeling of being “nobody,” the attempt to claw out of the black pit of adolescent isolation. The contrast works flawlessly: the softer the arrangement, the sharper the content.

The EP opens with the track “Guadeloupe“ (also known as Saint-Louis)—and immediately sets the tone for everything that follows. Jeremie‘s cool voice spreads over the sound like morning mist over the island. The track exists in a state of awakening, of the first breath, when the day has not yet been ruined by anything. The slight frostiness of the vocal here is a deliberate device: it creates distance between the listener and the pain being addressed. At the same time, “Guadeloupe” is entirely free of drowsiness—inside it, one senses motion, a pull forward, the promise of the next chapter.

“Coeur Wanted“ opens that chapter. The track starts dreamily, beautifully, with the kind of cinematic sweep that rap typically reserves for chase scenes or club interludes. Here, however, the sweep is directed inward—toward a reexamination of school persecution, intrigue, that very adolescent hierarchy where some get everything and others are cast as background. The tonality, meanwhile, remains bright, philosophical. Woven into the fabric of the track, rock-tinged hues surface distinctly in places, lending “Coeur Wanted” a texture that diverges from typical hip-hop production.

The third track, “Sors le Pistol,“ is the territory of meditation. Cosmic sonic textures enter first, and Jeremie‘s voice appears over them the way a thought surfaces in half-sleep—unhurried, almost accidental. For rap, this degree of contemplation is a rarity. The track carries you far from the school walls, from specifics, from pain—into a space where everything exists as sensation, and problems lose their sharp outlines. Positive, lush, emotionally measured.

“You & I, Hell“ closes the EP, and it is here that Jeremie Soyan reveals his voice from an entirely new angle. There is less rapping here, and considerably more melody. The track pulses, beats, radiates light. The bright tonality banishes loneliness beyond the schoolyard fence—and you physically feel that moment of transition, when the song ceases to be the monologue of a lonely teenager and becomes a chorus, however quiet. In “You & I, Hell,” minor-key insistence is fused with a tender farewell to childhood—and this farewell comes out luminous, kind.

Verdict

Jeremie Soyan and his latest EP offer a view from the inside, from the very thick of lived experience. He takes adolescent problems seriously, at full scale, and wraps them in a sonic shell closer to a child’s music box with a secret than to studio concrete.

One could, of course, dispute the balance. Four tracks are both the strength and the limitation of the format. The EP creates a mood, sets a trajectory, demonstrates a palette—but leaves you hungry. You want to hear how this “toy-cosmic” arrangement will behave over a longer distance, whether it can bear the weight of a full-length album, whether new facets will reveal themselves within it, or whether the shimmering synthesizers will begin to blur into a single backdrop. Jeremie Soyan‘s voice—cool, even, at times nearly meditative—also raises a question: where is its ceiling? How far is he willing to go in emotional range, if the format allows more space?

And yet, these very questions are the greatest compliment to a debut. They are born of interest, of the desire to hear what comes next, of the sense that behind four tracks stands an artist with a real, unforced statement. Jeremie Soyan dusted rap with vanilla playfulness, holiday-season keys, cosmic dust—and inside this entire fragile, shimmering construction, he placed a theme familiar to millions. School loneliness, first injustice, the feeling that the whole world is against you—and the quiet, stubborn realization: this will pass. Childhood will remain dear. Grievances will dissolve. The stars will align the way they are meant to. ‘MISEDUCATION OF A SAINT BOY’ is a musical message addressed to anyone who has ever stood with one foot in childhood, the other beyond the schoolyard, wondering what comes next. Jeremie‘s answer: everything is beautiful and changeable. And in that lies his central truth.

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