Interview Omaur Bliss

St. Paul hip-hop Renaissance man Omaur Bliss seems capable of anything shy of alchemy, as long as a microphone’s involved. The silver-tongued MC, who moonlights as a yoga instructor, created a smooth jazz-infused organic hip-hop sound on his meticulously produced 2005 self-titled debut. Quickly gaining a following thanks to his electrically charged live concerts, he moved into producing (under the name Omac Montainya) for his 2008 western-themed EP, Death Of An Unheard Rap Cowboy, which revealed a darker, dirtier side to his music. Now, Bliss returns with Dirty 3.0, an album both danceable and lyrically solid. The album drops sometime in late summer, but Bliss will release a video single for the song “I Like It” on June 19 at Kitty Cat Klub. Decider caught up with Bliss to talk about hip-hop and the pop hook.

Decider: In youth, you seemed to lead a sort of double life, getting into trouble but also participating in student government and theater. Do you feel this duality when you are making music?

Omaur Bliss: I actually do feel the duality. You can be a product of your environment, or you can choose to not be. Now, I see that there are two sides to the artistry that I make. There is definitely the side that’s a lot more street, but also I just have this large affinity for beautifully crafted songs. A lot of my material has this juxtaposition of a smooth flow, with a rough beat or a smooth track with harder, more punchy vocals. I like my bitter with my sweet.

D: Is that duality also reflected in your other persona, Omac Montainya? Or was that side project purely for fun?

OB: Absolutely. The alternate personality of Omac was so I could separate myself to do stuff apart from Omaur Bliss. The Omaur Bliss band had this sort of earthy, organic hip-hop sound with a slight touch of jam and a slight touch of soul. Omac was this chance for me to just do music that was fun—that was street. It was the stuff that I grew up on but a little more tongue-in-cheek.

D: Your newest album has a dark, brooding side that is different from the earlier stuff on your self-titled album. Is that Omac coming out?

OB: Omac was an experiment, and there were things in the experiment that I really liked. This new album is a combination of the two styles, but leaning towards Omac. I want to have fun, and I want the music to be fun. Making social statements is important in music, but I think that one of the biggest social statements one can make is to let loose and have fun.

D: A lot of the tracks on the new album are really club friendly. How do you think that works in the Twin Cities hip-hop scene, which is often pervaded by a certain intellectualism?

OB: As far as the club friendly music, I think that you are absolutely right. Minneapolis is an awesome hip-hop scene. It’s a very intelligent hip-hop scene. Most of the rappers here are college educated and they listen to MPR, so a lot of the music is a little more dense and heady.

D: But do you think that might be alienating at times?

OB: You know, yeah, it can be. The great thing that club music does is it sets a parameter: This is the groove; you know what’s going to happen in this groove. You’re automatically compelled to move. Club music is a call to action. You hear a beat, it bangs, you go dance. What Minneapolis does best is the lyrics: They call your brain to action. It causes you to think. Now what happens when you have someone who can do lyrics but the beat causes you to dance? This is the music I want to write. I’m no longer the backpack rapper. I am not doing underground with really wordy backpack rap. I’m also not doing really street I'm-gonna-shoot-you-in-your-face rap. What I can do is in the middle. I can do really club, grimy beats with intelligent raps and fun music. It does have social consciousness in it but also it’s there to make you move.

D: Do you think that it is possible to detach autobiography or political conscience from hip-hop? Are they inextricably linked, or can you tell a story without those elements?

OB: The human condition was there before politics. Hip-hop started out as the voice for the people, but it was also the escape for those people who had to deal with their everyday lives. That’s where the saying “two turntables and a microphone” came in. It was just guys rappin’ and having fun. I think that a well-rounded musical composition is like a story: There will be politics in it, and there might be moments where it’s just funny, but it’s life. It’s human, and that’s what I am most interested in relating to.