Textbook metaphors of ethnic mixing, like “melting pot” or even “tossed salad,” are useless—especially when paraded around on cultural grounds. Why? A crossed border is an occupation. A war is, well, a war, but culture is permeable—one reason to stay idealistic about it. And it’s never as simple as a divide between “authentic” culture and what Alan Bishop of the Sublime Frequencies label calls “the great beige latte of world music.” So Tamir Muskat and Ori Kaplan, the two Israeli-born maestros behind Balkan Beat Box, aren’t dying of naiveté when they think it’s a good gesture to climb on stage with a Palestinian rapper and gnawa musicians from Morocco. No, it’s definitely a good thing; saying why shouldn’t be the primary concern. 

Nobody even really knows how to classify the group—a sign of something profound. Kaplan says “Mediterranean Dancehall,” a phrase that would mean nothing to most. Because with groups like Balkan Beat Box, it’s less about what you know and more about what you might be willing to learn. Their self-titled debut album, released in October of last year, takes snatches of hip-hop and techno and pollutes them with Middle Eastern melodies and Arabic flutes. There’s traditional Algerian rai singing, and then there’s some batshit vocalizations by a couple of ladies called the Bulgarian Chicks. All of it can be danced to and damn well should be. 

The group grew out of a project called the J.U.F. (Jewish Ukranian Friendship), started by Muskat and Eugene Hütz, frontman of gypsy-punks Gogol Bordello. Both Muskat and Kaplan moved to New York from Israel over a decade ago, messing around in whatever scene suited them; Kaplan became a fixture in the avant-jazz community and Muskat spent time in indie blues acts like Freakwater. That the group has a rainbow pedigree only makes sense—Balkan Beat Box is, above all, a grab-bag. 

If anything, the worst part of listening to the group is feeling lost, like there’s no way that you could possibly understand the impossible amount of elements corralled into their sound. It’s easy to know what Alan Bishop means when he criticizes the world music market, which trades on making foreign sounds safe and digestible while providing just enough difference to keep things alluring and exotic. 

Balkan Beat Box isn’t as toothless as pan-ethnic chillout compilations, but the group’s not exactly raw ceremonial music either. Anyway, go to a market in Mexico and you’ll find that they’re hawking 50 Cent bootlegs. In that light, we can be a little more thankful for our imports. 

September 16. Southpaw, 125 Fifth Ave. (betw. Sterling & St. John’s Pls.), Brooklyn, 718-230-0236; 9, $15.