Another, and "probably the most intense," was his second trip to Iraq in 2002.

Born in 1977 in Oak Park, Ill., outside of Chicago, to an Iraqi immigrant father and an American mother, ElSaffar was aware of his roots if not particularly attuned to them. "We were eating Iraqi food from a very young age, and hearing the music and the language in a very peripheral way. But in both cases not really knowing what was going on. My sister and I were very young and we would sort of laugh at the music and try to imitate the singing, and just scream at the top of our lungs because that's all we could tell that they were doing. And now here we are, both playing that music."

It is his sister, Dena, whom ElSaffar credits with turning him on to Arabic music. A classically trained violist and violinist, she performs on the djoze, a spike fiddle made from a coconut shell with the skin of a water buffalo stretched over it. Though Amir didn't accompany his father to Iraq for the first time until 1993, due to the first Gulf War, his older sister had already been and become interested in the music.

After winning the $10,000 grand prize in an international trumpet competition, ElSaffar traveled to Iraq twice in 2002 to study the Iraqi maqam, a traditional music played and sung for centuries in coffeehouses and mosques; in the latter case it's typically sung with minimal percussion accompaniment, while in the secular mode it's often performed on the djoze and the santoor, a dulcimer-like string instrument played with hammers which ElSaffar studied during his travels.

Maqam consists of a repertoire of melodies that are woven together into larger compositions according to strict rules. According to ElSaffar, the music, while providing space for individuality, is far more regimented than jazz. Every city in the region has its own distinct maqam tradition whose recognizable traits range from the structure of the compositions down to the value of the microtones that are played.

"Every melody has a unique name to it, and it might come from a specific region of Iraq, or from Iran. It might come from Turkish music, or from Syrian musicians," He says. "And these melodies get woven together one after the other in a pretty seamless way. The first one might have been a Kurdish melody and the second one might be a southern Iraqi, almost Gulf-sounding melody, and they'll harmoniously be integrated into one composition."

"That's what's interesting about this music to me in the larger scheme. You have this collection of melodic pieces that are really coming from all aspects of Iraqi society, and in a way, mirror the demographics of the city."

ElSaffar initially arrived in Iraq in March of 2002, when an American invasion didn't yet seem inevitable. After heading back to the states for the summer and returning in September, however, the mood had changed. "Some of the teachers that I was trying to see were unavailable, and I had the sense that they just didn't want to be associated with an American citizen at that time. One of my cousins told me that the neighbors were asking, 'Who's this cousin of yours? Is he really here to study music?' To an Iraqi, the thought of somebody being that passionate about music to begin with, and then coming to Iraq at a time like that, just didn't make sense. So when I got the sense that they were feeling endangered by my presence there, within a week I left. I didn't want to put myself in danger, of course, but when I felt like I was potentially putting them in danger, then it just wasn't worth it."

Since completing his studies with teachers across the Middle East and in Europe, ElSaffar has concentrated almost solely on playing maqam to the exclusion of jazz. Now, for a piece commissioned by the Painted Bride's JazzJaunts series, he will attempt to combine the two, using both jazz and Arabic musicians, none of whom has prior experience with the maqam. Of particular interest is the inclusion of altoist Rudresh Mahanthappa, who undertook a similar project last year with South Indian music.

It's a tall order, fusing two musics that have themselves subsumed diverse styles and cultures over their histories. As certain other experiments have shown of late, sometimes cultural integration is a hard thing to force. In this case, at least, the prospects seem more promising.

Amir ElSaffar, Sat., March 25, 7 and 9 p.m., $25, Painted Bride Art Center, 230 Vine St., 215-925-9914, www.paintedbride.org.