For many Jamaicans, Ethiopia and Zion are interchangeable concepts, representing not just a place, but a spiritual foundation that lends strength to their own notions of freedom and, ultimately, repatriation back to Africa (as inspired by Old Testament scriptures as well as the teachings of Marcus Mosiah Garvey). The land of Ethiopia itself — situated in the horn of Africa region, surrounded by mountains on three sides and water on the other — is so far removed from the average Jamaican's reach, it's almost understandable why it has captivated their imagination and influenced their spiritual beliefs so intensely.

As the fabled "promised land" spoken of in Old Testament parables, the land of Ethiopia and Ethiopian culture have been mythologized to an extreme degree by Jamaica's Rastafarians. The Rastas believe that Selassie is not only still living, but the true manifestation of Jahovah, Earth's rightful ruler. According to Rasta philosophy, Selassie was sent from Zion to help protect the sufferers from the vampiric ways of Western civilization (known as the "Babylon system.")

In reggae music, the terms "Ethiopia," "Zion," "Rastafari," "Jah" and "Selassie" have become an integral part of the genre's vernacular; among the roll calls of Jamaican vocal harmony groups are outfits with names like the Ethiopians and the Abyssinians, and the "Amharic" riddim was one of the biggest in the dancehalls this past year. Moreover, reggae icon Bob Marley reportedly not only wore Selassie's signet ring — visible on the Legend album cover — but converted to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church (of which there are several sects in Jamaica) shortly before his death in 1981. Yet apart from reggae artists appropriating the natural mysticism associated with Zion, and the occasional Amharic lyric or historical reference, there have been few tangible links to Ethiopia's rich musical and cultural tradition. Although some distribution channels have opened up in this country and in Europe for world music, the majority of African music sold outside of Africa has been from the Western part of the continent. So while there has been a modern Ethio-pop scene for some time, its recorded works haven't been readily-accessible for listeners not living in East Africa, or at least the section of Washington D.C. called "Little Addis."

All that could change with the release of Zion Roots, the new album by Abyssinia Infinite, an Ethiopian group fronted by singer Egiyaheyu "Gigi" Shibabaw. Astute listeners might remember Gigi from her 2001 self-titled album, produced by Bill Laswell, which fused state-of-the art production with Amharic-language songs. Subtitled "Electric Ethiopia: One World Music," the album was fairly well received around the globe, establishing Gigi internationally as an up-and-coming superstar.

This time around, Gigi shares production credits with Laswell, and the result is a far more understated, toned-down affair that trades in the drum machines and sequencers for acoustic elements and a much more traditional-sounding vibe. Laswell is relegated to guitar, and other than percussionists Karsh Kale and Aiyb Dieng, there are no cameos from any of Laswell's jet-setting musician buddies. In fact, most of the musicians on Zion Roots are Ethiopian; Gigi is joined by family members Tigist Shibabaw and Teddy Shibabaw on vocals, while Melaku Gelaw plays the traditional washint and kirar, or Abyssinian flute and harp. Rounding out the group are tenor saxophonist Moges Habte, keyboardist Abegasu Shiota, and accordionist/guitarist Tony Cedras.

Zion Roots begins with "Bati Bati," a mellow tune made famous by Ethiopian singer Aster Aweke, which serves as both homage and invocation. From there, Gigi sings both romantic-themed material ("Gela," Alesema," "Gole"), songs of spiritual devotion ("Aba Alem Lemenea"), and traditional Ethiopian folk music ("Gedawo"). Her Amharic lyrics can be interpreted in several ways. "Gedawo," for instance, celebrates the harvest ritual, but it could also represent a love relationship coming to fruition, or, for that matter, humanity's need to re-connect with nature and attenuate to the seasonal cycle of rebirth. The album steadily builds up to its satisfying climax, the anthemic "Ethiopia," on which the singer's trilling, echoing vocals would sound haunting, were they not so comforting.

Gigi's name recognition and star power may have piqued interest in Ethio-pop, but the material on Zion Roots more than speaks for itself — call it folk music from the original folks. As for the singer, she never hits a bad note. Although her low-key phrasing is worlds away from the sonic overkill of contemporary R&B artists like Beyonce and Mya, Gigi can crank it up a notch when she needs a little something extra. Most of the time, however, she's content to caress the Motherland-inspired rhythms with her silky tones, resulting in an album that doesn't overwhelm, but subtly resonates. It's a work of sheer and utter beauty, one recommended to not only roots reggae and world music fans, but anyone with an open ear willing to trade the trendy for the timeless