The string of soulful song which connects the fado of Portugal to the choro of Brazil also extends to the morna and other musical forms of the formerly Portuguese colonial islands of Cape Verde, off the northwest coast of Africa.

Now a whiskey-drinking, cigarette-puffing grandmother, Cesaria Evora has succeeded in exporting her tiny nation's sounds to Europe and the U.S, in recordings and live performances. You won't guess her habits or her age from her voice, soft and engaging as a large cloud in a sunny sky. And you'd be only slightly more successful in guessing the source of musical influences on these recordings, aside from the Portuguese.

Fado seems present in the opening track, "Petit Pays", where French touches the title and a portion of the lyrics, which are mostly in the Portuguese patois of Evora's native island of Sao Vincente. Likewise, you might think of the mainland legend Amalia Rodrigues when you listen to "Rotcha 'Scribida", though Evora's conveyance of longing is more accessible and credible, possibly because it doesn't use the throaty power of a Rodrigues. This and several of the songs were written by Amandio Cabral, now a resident of the Bay Area and much admired in jazz circles.

Others of the songs seem to take you across the Atlantic to Brazil. In its minor-major modulations and upbeat tempo, "Xandinha" is evocative of forro, while the tearful sentiment and hovering sustained notes of "Tudo Tem Se Limite" are closer to the ballads of choro. The airy, playful instrumental combo of reed, violin, and guitar backing the singer's "D'nhirim Reforma" would find itself at home beside Brazilian barroom pagode. These similarities, though, are more likely due to coincidence of parallel evolution than to intentional mimickry. And there are so many nice surprises that you'll find yourself listening repeatedly to find new treasures such as the ticklish rolling piano on "Oriundina", the decorative guitar work suggestive of country-and-western virtuosos on "Tudo Dia E Dia", or the humming and children's chorus on "Flor Na Paul", a French-sounding waltz from a grandmother's memory, complete with accordion.

As you become familiar with the songs, you'll begin to recognize the integrity of the Cape Verdean pastiche and probably fall in love with it. The predominance of strings, particularly guitar and cavaquinho, are reminders of the Portuguese connection, but the lacey rhythms underneath seem born of the shifting air and light of the islands. Don't overlook the translations of the enchanting lyrics, filled with nostalgia and unforgettable images such as "walking alone/with the breaking sea/crying at our separate fates".