As a CD, Umalali: the Garifuna Women’s Project offers the kind of cross-cultural immersion that an mp3 can’t match, a complete package with vivid photography documenting the female Garifuna singers—Central American descendants of shipwrecked slaves whose recreation group vocal styles have passed down from grandmother to granddaughter. Producer/engineer Ivan Duran did a magnificent job with the liner notes, telling the women’s stories and translating their poetic lyrics—so rich in circumlocution!—with dazzling clarity of purpose. More than an ethnomusicologist’s gem, this qualifies as artful, provocative human interest journalism.

Duran also did a fine job of transferring the women’s songs onto tape—you can actually hear crashing Caribbean waves and creaking chairs on “Uruwei,” an oblique dirge criticizing the government. The young label head recorded Umalali’s 12 tracks inside a thatched hut on the beach, prying women from their overwhelming workload (chores, child rearing, housekeeping) before taking the recordings into a studio; there he added swirling electric guitars, bass, lush Afropop polyrhythms, shakers and such, never eclipsing the women’s songs, or the vibe of the original sessions.

What’s more audible than the oceanic ambiance are the life lessons these ladies pass down. Their tones range from cautionary—“leave behind those street-walking girlfriends of yours,” warns one 54-year-old on the opening track—to reflective, sometimes distressed, sometimes at peace, always infused with reverence and mystery. On the glorious “Burabana Yagien,” a cupid-struck lovebird hurls catchy, ecstatic melodies across buoyant electric guitar riffs. It’s a tempered euphoria, contagious yet calm. The track collapses into “Hattie,” the chilling story of 1961’s Hurricane Hattie, “a dreadful storm,” as the singers tell it. Their stories are varied and compelling—of this world, but not quite at home in it—and they come across.