A self-styled vocalist, composer and string player (guitar and the long-necked lute called gambusi), Nawal hails from Comoros, an Island nation in the Indian Ocean. She has a silver-in-the-rough voice that conveys wisdom and experience, and her music is an unorthodox blend of Comoros tradition, Sufi spirituality, and more. Completing Nawal’s unusual trio are Melissa Cara Rigoli on mbira dzavadzimu and percussion, and Idriss Mlanao on warm-toned, sure footed contrabass. These collaborators bring elements of Shona (Zimbabwean) spirit culture and the more contemplative forms of acoustic jazz to the mix. They also contribute harmonized backing vocals that hover dreamily, and shadow Nawal’s bone-dry soul songs. On this, her second self-produced album, Nawal balances a mood of loving celebration with unsentimental contemplation of world conflict, suffering and oppression.

The set opens with “Salama,” a hypnotic prayer for peace inspired by the September 11 attacks, and wryly drawing its words from Muslim Hadith. “Narizambe (We Must Say It)” melds Shona and Sufi moods with prominent mbira, and a subtle marriage of 6/8 and 4/4 time. Some pieces—“Meditation,” “Kweli II (Truth),” “Amani (Peace of the Soul)”—have an almost ritual feel: spare soundscapes with forthright rhythms and cyclic vocal melodies, some taken from Sufi dzikr chanting. Other songs lift with the celebratory, 12/8 swing of more conventional Comoros folklore, or even Malagasy music. Malagasy guitarist Solorazaf is a guest on three tracks, including “Swing ta Vie (Swing your life),” on which his clean, electric guitar melodies contrast intriguingly with the dry, woody plink of Nawal’s gambusi. But even when the mood is up, it never feels frivolous; light and happiness are never entirely free from the darkness and weight of a troubled world.

Nawal’s voice has world weary moral authority that sustains even her boldest experiments. On one track, “Dandzi (A Woman’s Blues),” she sings alone, lamenting the difficulties of life for women in polygamous marriages. The most satisfying pieces here assemble disparate sounds to create unexpected effects. “Ode to Maarouf,” which honors Nawal’s great grandfather, a Sufi marabout, builds from the ancient strains of solo gambusi to an understated, polyrhythmic groove with the subtle swing of Afro-Peruvian music. Nawal is a modern original with deep respect for the past, and passionate—though never naïve—hope for the future.