Corey Harris breaks new ground in the art of connecting American blues to Africa on this expansive album, his sixth and most adventurous. Harris's powerful rhythmic approach to guitar playing and songwriting comes through with ballsy bravado in an electric version of "Keep Your Lamp Trimmed and Burning," a reprise from his debut acoustic album, and on his own, roadhouse blues number, "Money on My Mind." In the album's opening tracks he reveals an impressive mastery of black American vocal idioms as well, the easy, scratchy wail of a New Orleans shouter on the funky "Frankie Doris," and the deep, sure howl of a Chicago bluesman on "Don't Let the Devil Ride."

Then things start to get really interesting. Some of this album's core songs were inspired by Harris's recent trips to Mali, one of the richest countries in West Africa from a cultural perspective. Harris turns an open-tuning riff he picked up in Ali Farka Toure's home town, Niafounke, into a trancey, psychedelic jaunt on the song "Fire." On "Capitaine" he picks up his acoustic and plays a cycling, squirrelly instrumental duo with his longtime accompanist Jamal Millner. The song mirrors the experience of a fish, the capitaine, swimming in the Niger River. "To me, it was a very emotional experience the first time I saw the Niger," says Harris. "Just knowing the importance of that river in African history, and then just knowing in general the importance of rivers to music all over the world, and especially to black music, how rivers had so much to do with jazz and blues."

"Santoro" takes its name from the Bamako, Mali, restaurant where Harris overheard the maniacally cycling guitar riff that inspired the song's music. Edging close to the soft falsetto of Hendrix in his vocal, Harris delivers a tough lyric about police brutality. He says, "'Santoro' is about how when you're in law enforcement and you're always provoking reactions from people, then you can't be surprised if you come upon somebody who's a little nutty or violent and will strike back at you."

"Sister Rose" reaches back to Harris's Cameroon experience. Over a rollicking groove that splits the difference between New Orleans second-line and Cameroonian makossa, Harris offers loving advice to a younger sister. And on "Money Eye," another song rich with the elusive rhythms of African pop, he pokes fun at the "friend" who forever borrows money, but never pays you back. Downhome Sophisticate offers a remarkable array of textures, rhythms, ideas, and moods, all of them rich with associations, while at the same time, highly personal.

Contributed by: Banning Eyre