Ô Houria (Liberty)

I'm kind of a provincial guy when it comes to my entertainment -- I don't completely dislike subtitled movies, for example, but I don't think an impenetrable mess of a story becomes art just because it was filmed in another language. And although I've grown to appreciate a much wider range of classical music than I would have thought, the fact that most operas are sung in something other than English means you can have my seat at La Traviata.

All this is to say that I am not the first person you'd pick to own two albums by Algerian-born singer/songwriter Souad Massi. But there you go, being all stereotypical.

Massi played guitar and sang quite a bit as a child, listening to a lot of American country and roots music. She hit local fame first as a singer for the Algerian classic-rock influenced band Atakor, but her presence as a Westernized woman and the lead performer for a highly political band earned her death threats serious enough that she quit the band and moved to Paris in 1999.

After performing at a music festival featuring Algerian women, Massi was signed to a record label and released a folk-influenced album, following it with two more that incorporated Algerian instruments such as the oud as well as regular guitars, sometimes with bass and drums. Ô Houria is her fourth studio album, and it mixes political and personal messages as well as different musical styles. Massi sings in Arabic, French, Kabyle (her native Berber language) and a little English now and again -- "Let Me Be in Peace," for example, is a duet with former Jam and Style Council frontman Paul Weller.

A lot of Massi's songs are familiar in style to American ears, given her love of country and classic cowboy Westerns. "Kin Koun Alik Ebaida" would fit on pretty much any mid-tempo woman rock singer's album as the "slightly edgy" track. "Une Lettre a...Si H'Med" is a swingy country number with some bluegrass leanings and "Enta Ouzahrek" mixes blues, country and even a little zydeco Cajun flavor, thanks to some accordion touches. "Un Sourire," on the other hand, uses that same accordion to emphasize its French folk roots. But "Tout Reste Á Faire" is very definitely an Arabic and North-African song, prominently featuring both bouzouki and oud backing French and Arabic lyrics.

Two things set even the familiar-sounding songs apart from their respective packs. First, the lyrics -- although they have to be followed mostly in translation, Massi digs skillfully and deeply into personal as well as political matters. "Une Lettre," for example, deals with a corrupt local official who couldn't be bothered to fix a road leading to Massi's native village. The decrepit road kept people from going to work in bad weather. "Nacera" is the lament of an abused woman, scorned by even her neighbors, and "Samira Meskina" a similar cry from a poor woman whose society tries to corral her into its restrictive roles despite her own desires.  "Tout Reste," "Tout Ce Que J'Aime" and "Ô Houria (Liberty)" all dream and envision (and maybe even pray for) a unified human community based on dignity, liberty and justice for all its people.

Massi's voice also sets these songs apart. French is often thought of as a musical-sounding language, and she moves through it very easily. Arabic's rougher glottals might seem to present more opportunities for vocal stumbling, but not the way Massi sings them. You may or may not understand the words coming out of her mouth on Ô Houria, but their tone will carry their message quite well, and you'll be more than able to tap your feet, snap your fingers and enjoy the beautiful voice in which she sings them.