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A profoundly empowering message from singer M.I.A.

“I put people on the map that never seen a map,” M.I.A. declares on “$20,” one of several songs on her genre-busting second album, “Kala” (Interscope), that double as sly Third World manifestoes.

The Sri Lankan singer gives the best kind of geopolitical lesson: One that will initially get noticed for how it sounds as much as for what it says.

It’s an album detailed enough to work as a mind-trip on headphones, and boisterous enough to blast at a jam-packed dance club.

It also may leave listeners bewildered, because its reference points aren’t traditional by any means. It was recorded in studios in India, Trinidad, New York, London and Baltimore, and it sounds like it — a multi-culti collage of rhythms and textures that rescues “world music” from its connoisseurs’ ghetto and infuses it with a joyous pulse that anyone can dance to.

Banging on the door

Not that M.I.A. is lacking in anything to say. On the contrary, when she’s banging on the door of a Hummer in “Bamboo Banga,” it’s a potent symbol of have-nots confronting colonialists riding in their expensive toys. It sets the table for an album that slyly tweaks violence as a problem-solving tool and wanton materialism as an excuse for “hustling.” Above all, it reminds listeners that the cutting edge in the Third World is hustling.

Charmingly homemade feel

British-born to Sri Lankan parents, Mya Arulpragasam made a splash in 2005 with her debut album, “Arular.” Its feisty sound was built on an unlikely combination of elements: a decidedly un-divalike voice, lyrics that Ping-Ponged between political hell-raising and delirious gibberish, and a chintzy $300 keyboard. The album had a charmingly homemade feel, and it grooved like crazy on a kaleidoscope of around-the-world beats.

Now, even though she is backed by the marketing muscle of Interscope (the label home of Eminem, Dr. Dre and U2), M.I.A. has not made her music any more pop-friendly. If anything, she’s gone in the opposite direction, with a less immediate, more ambitious avant-disco club record.

Astute choices

Largely produced by house DJ Dave Taylor (a.k.a. “Switch”), along with contributions from Timbaland, Diplo and Baltimore act Blagstar, “Kala” is a jungle of beats from around the world. More so than the playfully melodic “Arular,” the follow-up exults in rhythm: sound effects (dogs barking on “Bamboo Banger,” a stapler-like syncopation on “Down River,” breaking glass in “XR2”), battalions of drums (“Bird Flu,” “Boyz”), even a bass line laid down by an Australian didgeridoo (“Mango Pickle Down River”).

Her artistic choices are astute. The Aboriginal schoolboy rappers on “Mango Pickle Down River” put a fresh spin on hip-hop’s obsession with high-profile cameos.

When M.I.A. quotes the Pixies or Jonathan Richman, she turns them into ghostly echoes rather than comforting hooks. She also redeems a 1982 Bollywood track, “Jimmy,” the most straightforward song on the album. M.I.A. strips away the original’s soap-opera melodrama and amps up the string-driven groove.

Third World resilience

Oddly, it’s her much-anticipated union with Timbaland, “Come Around,” that is the album’s sole misstep. The track sinks when Timbaland sounds off about taking M.I.A. to his “tepee” — it adds a weirdly sexist and racist tone to an album that otherwise celebrates Third World resilience and feminine power.

The track only serves to underline what M.I.A. has accomplished on the rest of the album. With a less-celebrated batch of collaborators, she has fashioned a work every bit as audacious as Timbaland’s productions for Missy Elliott in the late ’90s. Like Missy, M.I.A. doesn’t resemble the MTV-approved female-icon prototype. As her recent appearance at Lollapalooza confirmed, she’s still an underwhelming performer. She’s also not much of a singer, and except for “Jimmy,” her new album isn’t groomed for widespread radio airplay. But it brims with odd yet catchy little hooks and delirious arrangements. It also has the good sense to fold its big ideas inside even bigger beats.

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greg@gregkot.com