Ximena Sariñana at World Café Live: New-Latin music for the adventurous

In the new-Latin alternative-music continuum, Mexican actress/singer Ximena Sariñana is a regal figure, both pop and esoteric, a vocalist and composer whose strange, elegant, and occasionally raucous songs sound like St. Vincent singing John Barry's themes for 1960s James Bond flicks along the shores of Brazil. The tropical sway, the grandeur of epic, arching chords, the angular riffing of fuzztone guitars and synths - magnificent.

That's the vibe Sariñana and her opening act, Dominican singer-songwriter Alex Ferreira (whose band backed Sariñana), offered at World Café Live on Wednesday to a packed house of mostly Spanish-speaking, thoroughly adventurous music fans.

Singing in Spanish and joking with the "gringos" in the audience, Sariñana started quietly with "Parar a Tiempo" before cranking up the groove. As she sang "Passion takes away the ability to decide," the once-quiet tune became big and discofied. As she bounced in place and wriggled her hands, the robotic "Cuando Mientes" allowed her voice room to roam. Guitarist Ferreira found space to explore rhythms. That same sense of jagged pulse provided "La Vida No Es Fácil" with a base for Sariñana's elated vocals.

Throughout, Sariñana's voice was playful, unafraid to get nasal or slightly off-key - with the vocal instincts of the actress she is - through the plucked-cello-sampled soul of "La Tina" or the fluttering "No Voy a Decir Que No." During "Ruptura," she acted out the drama of a "sad song" with what she called "real slit-your-wrists" lyrics.

Where her vocals were most effective was in harmony with Ferreira, as in the Beatlesque (think "Hey Bulldog") "Mediocre" or the metronomic "No Vas a Venir," with its jazzily psychedelic bridges and her theatrical note-holding finale. The pair's work on the latter tune was heavenly.

Ferreira is a little-known commodity in America - he has several import-only albums, such as Un Domingo Cualquiera - but packed houses with enthusiastic fans such as those at WCL should change that. From his disco-psychedelic guitar workouts and his baritone singing, to his trio's contagious, electro-layered synthesizer sound, with both real and programmed clave and woodblocks, he was a sheer delight. His last number alone - a solo rendition of "My Little Island" - was simply charming and worth the price of admission.