Some artists' stories overshadow their art. K'naan Warsame knows that some may think that's the case with him. He doesn't care.

"It is a compelling story," agrees the artist, known professionally as simply K'naan. "The story does have a lot to do with what created me as the artist. I don't really shy away from the story. My art is not in competition with the story."

Arguably, it's hard to separate one from the other. The music on his new album, 'Troubadour,' is very much tied to his journey, from Somalian childhood to Toronto, from brutality to dislocation, from rootlessness to self-discovery, told with great linguistic flair in a musical language that stretches from Africa to urban North America. It's a combo that first came together on his 2006 independent release 'The Dusty Foot Philosopher' and then caught the attention of several music moguls, leading to a deal within the Interscope Records empire and the chance to record with guests ranging from Damian Marley and Mos Def to members of Maroon 5 to Metallica guitarist Kirk Hammett.

"The truth is, for myself, my main objective is good art," he says. "It isn't the story. But it's what made me become obsessive with good art. I cam from Somalia, grew up in Mogadishu. Some of it was amazing, some pretty tragic and difficult -- as Somalia's own history is. I just think it's what helped give me the artistic drive I have now and not settle for just anything. It's not even a conscious effort, honestly. There are, of course, songs in which I don't talk about Somalia or myself in Somalia. But neither by talking about it or not talking about it is a conscious effort. None of it is. It's just what happens to you when you have those experiences."

A quick recap of those experiences makes the results seem inevitable. For more than the first decade of his life in Mogadishu, he says, he was blissfully unaware of the country's growing problems. What he did know, deeply, was art.

"Somalia's most prominent social expression is poetry," K'naan says. "In every household, everyone communicates with poetry. This is the most widespread thing in the country. You have a feeling there is something more eloquent about the way people talk."

And it was magnified for him, as his grandfather was a very well-known poet throughout the country, and then his aunt was Magool.

"She was the most famous singer of all time there," he says. "I don't know how to explain -- when she arrived back fro a tour, the president would meet her at the plane. And she would be in my home. But even in all of that, we lived in a neighborhood that is known as the most dangerous in Somalia. This is a proud community, although quite difficult. This was my upbringing, my first 11 years spent around poets, playwrights and some gangsters outdoors."

The childhood idyll, gangsters and all, was shattered by civil war.

"The country went upside down and everyone, child or not, had to pick up a gun. Many friends died. Luckily, I did not. We went through that survival period and my mother was able to get us out -- the last Somali Airlines flight to get out. We went to New York City, spent a little time in Harlem, and then went to live in Toronto, where immigration is easier."

And that's where it all got easier, right? Or not.

"An interesting thing a lot of people don't know, I guess I haven't shared, is the reasons for writing was that at some point in my early teens I was diagnosed with what's called post-traumatic stress syndrome. My mother did not trust the Western medicine system, said, 'I don't want them to medicate you,' and I said, 'I don't want to be medicated, either.' So for a year I went through constant depression, panic attacks. Would be in my room alone for months at a time. This was the most difficult period of my life, more difficult than the actual war. And that was the period I started to create music. I would write melodies and lyrics of things that actually happened to me. And when I would mold them and sing them, they would become actual songs, and the events themselves would be deleted. I treated my trauma through songs. And that became my first album and why I wrote music."

That music proved a very natural and often arresting combination of the sounds of his life. Not surprising, given that he was by this time a young man in urban North America, hip-hop and R&B took a forward role, but his African roots -- particularly in the cadences of his delivery - came through clearly and organically. The first album, recorded on the cheap and released without any real label support, shows an affinity for the crucial, thoughtful and playful rap of such early icons as Run-DMC.

In the process, he says, he learned to mold English to his needs after growing up "thinking in Somali and speaking this language that is ancient. Somali drips with colors of light and majestic strength, and you when you take English you become an oversized person wearing an undersized shirt and you have to stretch it around to your comfort."

With 'Troubadour' he fully accomplished that. And that can be said for the music as well. In both regards, he says he does hear people muse that somehow he is not sounding "African" enough. But he says those are people who aren't really listening to such things as the Ethiopian-esque horns that kick off the opening "ABC's" (featuring rapper Chubb Rock).

"Musicians recognize that it has strong African elements. The general ear, they hear the big melodies and the feelings that are like pop music. But musicians understand that there are undeniable African elements. The reason is I change time signatures in my songs. So you have a song like 'I Do' in 10/8, that is a completely non-Western approach. Musicians are like, 'That's f---ing me up! What are you doing?' And I tell them that comes from where I come from. We have more interesting ideas than 1-2-3-4."

And K'naan cites the songs 'Fire in Freetown': "The time signature on that is f---ed -- I love it! You can see there's an extra bar in that song, so it turns around in a weird way. I remember Damian Marley hearing it and trying to get his band to play with it and it was like, 'What the f--- is this?' And then there's a song called 'America' with Mos Def. The 808 [beat machine] usage is old hip-hop. But we use it in a way that Fela Kuti would use a drum beat. The way it falls on the rhythms is so incredibly different."

So where do Maroon 5 and Metallica fit in to this? The former backs him on the very pop-rock 'Bang Bang,' the latter's guitar shredder adds a solo to the sly 'If Rap Gets Jealous' -- a few steps ahead from a version that appeared on his debut.

"I love writing and constructing great hooks," he says of 'Bang Bang.' "My heroes like Duke Ellington and those guys, if you interviewed them they would say, 'Yes, I like pop music.' There is no shame in constructing a beautiful, big song. People like my real critical-sounding music, but I have no problem constructing real hits. This is one album where that's possible. Why not? Real things to say but in a way people can hear it. Feel it. Bob Marley did that."

And of Hammett's spot: "I met him at Bonnaroo and he was such a nice man, a cool dude. Stephen Marley introduced us. So I though I wanted to have another version of this song on this album, to kind of constantly affect the genre-hopping. I thought, 'What could be better than having him on a great guitar solo?'"

One place he doesn't hear questions about whether he sounds African enough is, well, Africa.

"I played in Djibouti, the former Somali coast with all Somali people," he says. "Played there a year ago, was remarkable. There's YouTube footage of it, amazing. I haven't gone back to Mogadishu but played in West Africa and South Africa. We get love everywhere, but in Africa it's different. They don't need a historical backdrop to me. Their reception of the music is more direct."

And the story continues.