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Boston rapper Oompa goes deep with ‘Unbothered’

Victor D. Infante

Worcester Magazine USA TODAY NETWORK

In her 2019 album, “Cleo,” Boston hip-hop artist Oompa created a narrative of survival, of pushing through deprivation and obstacles and, finally, at the end of the journey, becoming one’s self. It was a powerful, layered piece of work, but also one that leaves the listener thinking: “Well, what’s next?”

With her new album, “Unbothered,” Oompa answers that question with aplomb. In all honesty, this sort of sophomore album trips up a lot of hip-hop artists: In the wrong hands, this part of an artist’s journey can feel false, filled with contrived rehashes and empty braggadocio. Oompa manages to avoid all of that by looking inward, and finding that she still has plenty to say. “Unbothered” is a lyrical album, filled with moments of melodic beauty, but it never loses sight of who the artist is and where she comes from, that sense of honesty becoming the fuel for its power.

The album begins in prayer, with “Amen.” It’s a moment of gratitude, even as it acknowledges desire: “I want my piece, I want my space … I want the keys/I want the lane” sings Oompa, before shifting into rap. “If it causes stress/then it ain’t for me,” raps Oompa, and that’s a bit of a refrain throughout the album: self-care, and letting go of negative elements in one’s life. “I’m going back to the days where we used to play/ and were really non-complicated/they are still in your childhood/man get yours back/ ’cause that’s the only way (racial epithets) are going to make it.”

This is a delicate game for any artist to play, because the search for inner peace can be dull subject matter. Oompa

Oompa’s newest album is “Unbothered.” PROMOTIONAL PHOTO

sidesteps this with a sense of honesty, yes, but also with a sense of having come through the fire, and sharing what she’s learned. When, on the title track, she raps about self-care, and taking it in stride when people “call you on your (expletive),” she asks the question, “Can you do that?” It’s not just a rhetorical question: It’s the core of moving forward, one Oompa asks even as she moves to remind the listener of the damage people can cause in one’s life with seeming ease. “Stress/aw, naw/hell no we don’t do that,” she refrains, “Hell nah, we been through that.” The rapper looks to move past continually being affected by the past, and to not repeat the mistakes of the past.

Oompa displays a sense of balance and wisdom, and it informs everything that comes afterward, even when she switches up the tone with the bare-knuckled “Lebron.” “You do what you can,” she raps, “I do what I want.” This is a bit of a battle anthem, and it has a soaring energy that seems to almost contrast the loose rapping style she uses for most of the song, her rhymes increasingly tightening as the song progresses. The song’s a flex on multiple levels, and she earns it on all of them. When she picks up the tempo with the dance beat-inflected, “Outta Patience,” all the energy that’s coiled in “Lebron” gets released like a rabbit punch. (I know, there should be a basketball metaphor here, but boxing just worked better.) “I ain’t made it but I’m damned close,” she raps, meditating on how even nearing success affects her relationships: “It’s like they’re happier to see you when you’re struggling with it/but when you get it they forget you had to go and get it/so they throw the dirt back on you/to remind you of the trenches.”

This is a familiar theme in the genre, and unfortunately it’s probably familiar because it happens, but by delaying this burst of anger to later in the album, she allows it to hit hard, and then dissolve into the darkly pointed, “It Ain’t Safe,” where she refrains the lines from earlier, “You do what you can/I do what I want.” But now, it seems to have a dangerous undertow. “Hide your wife/hide your man/hide your chain,” she cautions, and it’s hard to say whether it’s she herself who she perceives as being unsafe, or the situation she finds herself in. Maybe it’s both. What’s undeniable, though, is the song has an irresistible hook, dragging the listener deeper into the song’s murky waters, and from there into the the riptide of the next song, “Deep.” There’s an almost old-school R&B vibe to the song, one where a sense of longing and need is conveyed as much through the tone of Oompa’s singing as through lyrical content. The switch from rap to mostly singing escalates the song’s slow-burn heat, a swelter that leads into the more erotically forward, “Where My Silky?”

Oompa’s ability to layer tone and meaning while taking the listener on an internal journey is masterful throughout this al-

SANDRA RAIN

Confessions of Worcester’s ‘most insufferable restaurant critic’

Sandra Rain

Special to Worcester Magazine USA TODAY NETWORK

I know our editors have been fielding endless inquiries regarding my whereabouts. They receive boatloads of emails asking, “What happened to Sandra?” and messages spelled out in individual letters like ransom notes with threats such as, “Make it Rain, or else.” I wish I could tell you I was scooped up by the LA Times or poached by The Globe, but the truth is, I couldn’t bear to eat another breaded white fish. The steak tips had gotten to me. The rice pilaf was finally more than I could handle.

Worcester has plenty of locally owned restaurants. “There’s a seat for every ass,” as they say. But, there were never enough restaurants for proper criticism to flourish here. When The New York Times decides a restaurant is worthy of a review, that is a testament to its standing. One star from The New York Times means the establishment is “good.” Four stars means it is “extraordinary.” Because of the devastating impacts of the pandemic on hospitality, The Times has ceased to award stars altogether. I decided if Pete Wells wasn’t going to give out stars while the world crumbled, then I sure as hell wasn’t about to knock a mom and pop shop on Shrewsbury Street. With that, my fiveyear stint as Worcester’s most glorified Yelper came to a close. What have I been up to? Well, I’m mostly just trying to relax. My friend, we’ll call him Thaddeus Snow, tells me the legalization of recreational marijuana can help. He replaced his nightly beer with a cannabis seltzer called Wynk. I’ve always been a lightweight, so I imagine the 2.5 mg of THC would be plenty to mellow me out. If he’s feeling especially indulgent, he pops a Cheeba Chew — the weed infused taffy he keeps in his freezer. I’ve considered giving it a try. My nights of passed apps, wine dinners and comped desserts are over. I wish I could tell you I missed my old life, but that would be a lie.

I don’t want you to think I’m being irresponsible. Legalization has brought forth a lot more information about the benefits and risks of cannabis. I expect the wrong dose would make me anxious, which is why I am more open to the idea of a carefully calculated seltzer or edible than I am to actually smoking the stuff. I’m glad I waited until middle-age because the research shows regular use can lead to IQ loss in young people over time. I believe I’ve already sacrificed enough brain cells to know my limits.

If I ever told you your carnations were ugly or your mason jars were gauche, I just want to apologize. I hope my public decrees caused you no harm. I do stand by my absolute slaying of one establishment for serving me a glass containing what I diplomatically described as a “floating black grain of rice.” I’m certain it was a mouse dropping. I literally ate shit for this job, but that’s neither here nor there. All this is to say, I’m sorry if I docked you for having a carpet in your dining room or putting too many dishes on your menu. I got lazy toward the end.

Anyway, don’t look for me on the pages of Worcester Magazine. You are not likely to find me here anytime soon. For all you know, I could be stoned devouring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the television until further notice. The truth is, it doesn’t matter. Thank you for tolerating me, Worcester. Sandra Rain bids you adieu.

If I ever told you your carnations were ugly or your mason jars were gauche, I just want to apologize. PIXABAY

Oompa

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bum, culminating with the album’s penultimate song, “Go.” “Is it worth it,” she sings. “I know it ain’t worth it.” There is only forward motion. She’s been telling the listener this through the entire album, but when she makes it explicit here, you can feel the things holding her back fall away.

The album ends with the song, ‘Everything Good,” which begins with Oompa rapping, “Hey take this red pill/how ‘bout this blue pill/I said, ‘Who was the pharmacist?’/Inside the matric/outside the matrix/ you can’t escape your own karma, kid.” Here, she talks about being poised to head to Los Angeles, and being interrupted by the world literally shutting down. “You want the antidote for the world’s problems/but yours got a face,” she raps. “Look at your demons/they look just like you/that’s why you’re running away.”

The song brings the listener full circle: The album begins with a sense of self-worth and self-care, but by the end, the rapper reminds the listener that those are states of mind that need tending, and that doesn’t happen until you make peace with your own demons, and coming to terms with what it is you really want. “I’m not where I wanted to be,” she raps, “but that’s probably because I couldn’t imagine a life/where I had all that I needed/the whole time it’s all been inside me.”