Searching for musical inspiration on the African continent is a rock-and-roll cliché that ranks right up there with dating supermodels and firing the manager. The Rolling Stones, Paul Simon, and Peter Gabriel are just a few of the Western rock stars who have used sojourns on the Dark Continent to spruce up a pop song or dabble in a foreign culture. At best, these cross-cultural collaborations breathe fresh air into verse-chorus-verse song forms; at worst, they become exemplars of Western exoticism, appropriation, opportunism, and cultural insensitivity. So when Blur frontman Damon Albarn announced that his upcoming solo CD would be recorded with a group of Malian musicians, you could almost hear the cultural critics sharpening their knives. Mali Music (Honest Jon’s/Astralwerks), however, doesn’t give us much to decry.

Instead of using African instruments to spice up his own work, or imitating the distinctive cadences and rhythms of African styles, Albarn has created a quirky, cross-cultural collaboration that seems suspended in the æther between London and Bamako. Soundclash, not synthesis, is the guiding concept. Some tracks appear to be totally unrelated: lo-fi recordings of traditional kora music ("Nabintou Diakite") are offset by delicate, indie-rock lullabies ("Sunset Coming On"). Others revel in an unusual collision of timbres and tones. The distinctive, pinched cadences of singer Afel Bocoum ride over a digital rhythm of buzzes and beeps; sprightly kora glissandos dance over washed-out dub rhythms; slashes of distorted guitar interrupt a sprightly Afro-pop groove. Attribute the disjointed style of Mali Music to its unusual genesis. Based on recordings Albarn made over a few months in Mali, the tapes were edited and remixed twice — first by Albarn in London and then by singer Afel Bocoum in Mali.

On an album that is being promoted as Albarn’s latest project, the singer is hardly in evidence. His name and photo don’t appear on the CD spine or cover; a small sticker credits the album to "Afel Bocoum, Damon Albarn, Toumani Diabate and friends"; and his quivery, laid-back tenor shows up only sporadically. As opposed to what Paul Simon did on his 1986 Graceland, Albarn gives his Malian collaborators a lot of space, letting them take the helm on many tracks and sharing songwriting credits throughout. And the disc itself is a benefit album, with proceeds going to the British relief organization Oxfam. Mali Music feels like a genuine attempt by Albarn to do the right thing, as if England’s imperial past were still giving him nightmares. Call it the Lonely Planet æsthetic: he wants to travel and dabble, but in a culturally sensitive, politically correct kind of way.

A similar vibe infuses Fredric Galliano and the African Divas (Pias/F Communications). This one is helmed by the French house producer Fredric Galliano, who has long been fascinated with African culture. He produced the excellent 2000 compilation Frikyiwa (Six Degrees), which features Malian pop songs remixed by various electronic producers. This new disc is the result of four years of traveling and recording throughout West Africa.

Galliano’s role, like Albarn’s, is more low-key observer, editor, and producer than it is participant. He’s working with a group of amazing vocalists, whose call-and-response chants and bursts of virtuosic melisma he sets to luscious house grooves. Jittery guitar riffs and rattling live percussion drive the groove forward, and he uses dub effects and mixes in field recordings to bring the disparate parts together. His empathetic drum programming and keen sense of pacing allow the African Divas to be the real stars, and their range of timbres — from nasal cries to wide, clear vibratos — enlivens even the simplest 4/4 thump.

Galliano’s combination of house and African music is a natural one, since both emphasize cyclical arrangements and sustained repeating rhythms. Along with this æsthetic affinity, it’s his selfless approach that ensures the album’s success. Ethno-exotica is all too common in electronica, but Galliano approaches the various singers and musicians as equals, fitting his sound into their songs instead of the other way around. It’s this ego-free approach that distinguishes him and Albarn from past waves of Afro-Euro musical travelers. Both artists give up the reins of control for a more fluid definition of ownership, where sampling and remixing turn black-and-white lines of authenticity and authorship into a fuzzy gray.