The first time you hear Rusted Root's debut album on the radio you think, "Thank God David Byrne finally figured out how to make the South American thing not sound pretentious." Then the DJ informs you that the fine piece of music you've been listening to hasn't got a thing to do with David Byrne, who is probably sitting in some over-decorated thatch hut in the Amazon, body paint dripping down his thighs, wishing to God he'd written the thirteen songs that make up "When I Woke."

The confounded expectations don't stop there. For an album that can easily be filed under World Music, you begin to wonder about the group's bona fides. Yeah, Peter Gabriel is great, sure Graceland was a fantastic album, but they were white guys either honoring or co-opting another culture's musical traditions. Surely Rusted Root, from their sound all the way down to their cover art, is authentic, even if they do sing in English. Well, then you discover that they're from Pittsburgh. But you know what? You don't care.

There are a sufficient number of incomprehensible words on the album to convince the casual listener that English is only occasionally in use. Like the REM of old, you can listen to Rusted Root forever without understanding half their lyrics, yet remain convinced that singer/lyricist Mike Glabicki is the most profound poetic voice since King David decided verse was his most likely route of entry into Bathsheba's pants.

Glabicki acknowledges that bits of lyrics are not in fact words but merely "syllables that sound right with the music." Nowhere is this more apparent, nor more effective, than in Back to the Earth," where the few words ("Back to the Earth I screamed / and no one listened to me / Back to the Earth I lived / and they all followed") combine with a lyrical chanting that incorporates vague images to evoke the feeling of a native ritual homage to the planet-spirit as well as a plea for respect of the earth as a living entity.

(Some attempt to document lyrics has been made on Rusted Root's Web site. If making up your own proves too troublesome, and you're determined to sing along, go there. You can also download several songs to listen to at home and order their 2 self-produced CD's.)

Highly percussive and darn near acoustic, Rusted Root's major label debut (Mercury/Polygram) runs the energy spectrum, from the gentle ashram-like tone poem of Infinite Tambura, to the driving Ecstasy that leaves everyone from Santana and Tito Puente through, yes, Peter Gabriel and David Byrne eating marimba dust. Whether up-tempo or down, percussion is the band's musical currency and in addition to reaching onto every continent to find things to bang on, Rusted Root uses flutes, whistles, and guitars for both their melodic and rhythmic functions, creating a texture that is rich and exuberant even at its most restrained. A studio album, "When I Woke" was recorded live (meaning the band playing all at once with very few overdubs) and captures all the energy of an in-person performance with none of the annoying audience rigmarole.

Spirituality is ever-present on the album, but doesn't get the least bit pretentious. Asking you to "Open your eyes and feel it burn / open your eyes and let the child learn / I remember asking why there lies aggression / separation where there should be love," they later implore the heavens, "All I want is food and creative love." But lest you think them too serious, they build the image of the hermetic-obsessive-introspective, singing, "Fear whistles in the wind as I blow down / Fear for me and I will fear for you," and burst the bubble with, "Fear when the cat turned blue."

Pittsburgh schmittsburgh. If the music reminds you more of steel drums than steel mills, so be it. Here's a bit of Rust Pittsburgh should be proud to produce.