Ali of Mali: Guitar king of the Sahara

But novelty only reaches so far. There are, of course, hundreds of obscure places. What makes Africa and Cuba different, what makes their music so fascinating to Western listeners relates less to novelty than history. Cuba represents Kennedy, the Cold War. Similarly, Africa signifies a past long-repressed: slavery.

Mali's links run even deeper. Though the French colonized Louisiana for only a short time, and Mali until 1960, the two spots share linguistic similarities. The term "gris-gris," for example, corresponds to Louisiana voodoo, is the name of a Dr. John album and also signifies the leather-thonged amulets that some people wear around their neck in Mali as part of their animist tradition. In the past year, Malian style has also become popular, first appearing in the "Star Wars" prequel. Now, mudcloth, a coarse earth-toned fabric, is also appearing in vests and hats of hip, downtown New Yorkers.

But the biggest U.S.-Mali link resides in the music. Toure may have tired of Hooker comparisons, but he recognized their musical bond as soon as he heard the legendary bluesman. "It's 100 percent our music," Toure says, recalling his first experience with Hooker. "The roots are in Africa." Henry Louis Gates Jr., the chair of Harvard's Afro-American studies program, underscored that point in October's PBS series "Wonders of the African World," when he traveled up the Niger river to Timbuktu, stopping in Bamako to groove in the local "juke joints." And Taj Mahal has long expressed a sense of musical oneness with Mali.

Not surprisingly, on his latest recording, Taj plays with Malian kora player Toumani Diabate, a Guinean singer and five other Malian musicians, including Bassekou Koyate, the ngoni player who missed out on "Buena Vista." The collaboration's result is lively, deep and diverse, a mix of Taj-heavy backbeats, quick high-pitched runs, and ethereal vocals. Even without Taj, "Kulanjan" represented a historic chance to unite music from the ancient Manding Empire, with the bluesy danceable sound of southern Mali's Wassoulou music.

Taj only met Diabate in 1990, but they hit it off immediately. Diabate opened Taj's show the night after they met, and the idea of "Kulanjan" was formed. Nine years later, the idea became a reality. And according to Eyre, who was at the clapboard house in Athens, Ga., when "Kulanjan" was recorded, the musicians meshed as if they had been playing together during all those years apart. "It was very, very easy and spontaneous for them to work together," Eyre says. "Most of those songs they put together in a half hour, then recorded them in the first take."

Eyre attributes the easy mixing to a complex relationship between the blues and Malian music, both older traditions that Taj and Diabate have faithfully followed. And to a large extent, that fusion remains possible because, unlike other countries, Mali has remained true to those roots, Eyre says.

"You'll find countries with old people that are worried about children listening to hip-hop," he says. "That's not happening in Mali. Having traveled to a lot of countries in Africa, I can say that Malians are really into their music. It's not comparable to what's going on anywhere else: There are new artists being generated, and old artists are being challenged to generate new work within their tradition."

That exuberance, Eyre expects, will keep people like Allen coming back for more. And the music's relatively newfound audience deserves some of the credit too. Not only have they embraced world music, but they've also learned to discriminate. "Twelve or 13 years ago, people would say, 'I like world music,' then they might say, 'I like African music,' says Gold, who has been recording the globe for more than a decade. "But now they're learning to differentiate."

Eyre agrees, adding that the more people learn, the more Mali's stock will rise. "People will argue about whether Juju is better than South African pop, but Malian music is a given, it's always in their collections," Eyre says. "I believe that anyone who listens to this music will like it." Companies such as Rykodisc, which is distributing "Niafunke" through its Hannibal label here in the United States, are hoping that Eyre is right. They have invested heavily in the work of several Malian musicians.

So far, the lightning has yet to strike. "Kulanjan," also on Rykodisc, is only at No. 11 on the world music charts, and "Niafunke" has sold about 100,000 copies in the U.S. and England. But this might simply be a sign of Cuba's red-hot status, which may fade when the well of "Buena Vista" spin-offs runs dry. Mali could then act as a follow-up, an argument buttressed by the many Malian albums still on the way, at least one of which will feature Toure. Gold says Toure called two weeks ago to invite him for another visit sometime early next year.

Gold is also planning to complete the rain-checked Mali-Cuban collaboration. He says Jalimadi and Bassekou, who he saw in London less than a month ago, are disappointed to have missed out on the "Buena Vista" sensation. But neither is bitter, perhaps rightfully so.

That's a scene Allen would welcome. "I find myself singing along [with 'Niafunke']," she says. "Then I wonder if I'm disrespecting the words. But I can't help it. I like the way it sounds."

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