The good news is that a young singer/songwriter from Mali, in western Africa, is getting a North American tour and distribution in our parts for this latest album by the reputable Harmonia Mundi, out of Los Angeles. There isn't really any bad news, unless you're awful fussy about the sound of your griot music.

Griots (sometimes called jalis) were singing historians, supposedly influenced by Islamic hymnists from north of the Sahara, whose elite status was conferred by rulers of the great Manding kingdoms which preceded, and were ultimately destroyed by, European colonialism. They reached their greatest extent, in what is now Mali and smaller surrounding nations, between the 13th and 15th Centuries, but the prestige of the griots, handed down through family lines, has persisted into the present.

Things have changed, though. Toumani Diabaté, whose surname reflects his griot lineage, today plays the kora, a traditional stringed instrument, but he's played and recorded in company with musicians from Spain and India. Salif Keita is a noble, not a musician, by birth, but like Diabaté he's made a world-touring career of Malian music and he makes it using electrified instruments. Ali Farka Touré, from another noble family, plays guitar and has recorded an album probing the roots of the blues with American Taj Mahal.

Rokia Traoré, a guitarist as well as a singer, counts Touré as a role model. She's descended from warriors, another privileged caste, and her father's function as diplomat took her from northern Africa to Saudi Arabia and France in her younger years. She also spent time in Belgium, base of the female Afro-European vocal group Zap Mama, whose approach is echoed on the title track of "Wanita". Traoré's growing global appeal is likely to be buoyed by, and limited by, some of the same elements that have defined Zap Mama's success.

She has a light, lilting, wistful voice which somehow matches her youthful physical appeal. On the opening track, "Kanan Neni", Traoré may also remind you of a lead singer in some Motown groups of the 1960s, and in fact she layers female vocals on that and other tracks, as they did in Detroit.

The layering is part of what will separate the fusionists from the purists among the listeners to Traoré. It's a little like what happened to the blues when they evolved into r&b and eventually ended up making a lot more money in Motown. If you want the Malian equivalent of Delta blues, you'll probably stick by the traditional part of the repertoire of someone like Toumani Diabaté. It's deep, soulful, and stirring, and it's invoked by one voice and one entrancing instrument.

If you want slicker production values with more voices and more instruments, you'll probably be attracted to Traoré, but you may have to leave some soul and depth behind in favor of a brighter, perkier sound. Another risk in fatter production is that it can render tedious some of the accouterments it borrows from roots music, such as the narrow modal melodies and repeated phrases here.

There's much of the good in Mali's musical history remaining, though, including the vaguely Islamic slithery decorations of Traoré's voice and the traditional balafon (xylophone) and stringed instruments (kora, played by Toumani Diabaté, n'goni, and n'goni bâ) which she uses alongside the imported guitar (she plays on three tracks) and some electric bass.

Another hint of tradition happens on "Mancipera", with the participation of the album's only male vocalist, Boubacar Traoré, who's also currently touring behind a much rootsier album on Indigo, "Macirâ".