Lord of the Ring Tone, And More

His father, jazz percussionist Mor Thiam, had come to the Midwest to work with Katherine Dunham, an American dance legend and former cultural adviser to the president of Senegal. Akon, the second-oldest of five children, born in April 1973, spent part of his childhood in Africa, returning to the United States when he was 7 to attend school in Jersey City.

"But every summer, we'd go back home to Senegal," he says, noting that he remains fluent in Wolof, the West African country's most widely spoken language. "After high school, it was our choice whether we wanted to live there or stay in the States. We all stayed here. There were more opportunities. It was really a no-brainer."

He says he began getting into trouble while he was in high school. His father was offered a job at Clark Atlanta University and his parents moved to Georgia, leaving the teenage Akon and his older brother in New Jersey. They had a house and a car to themselves -- and "too much freedom," Akon says. (His parents declined interview requests through their son's publicist, who said the singer "wants to keep his family out of the press.")

By Akon's account, he fell in with the wrong crowd and sold marijuana. "I just did it to get accepted. But it wasn't me." And he started chopping cars for $10,000 a pop. He got expelled and had to graduate in a different district. He moved to Atlanta for college, but dropped out after a year and resumed stealing and selling cars. Eventually he got arrested. One public record in Georgia indicates he was sentenced to three years of probation on an unspecified felony. Akon says he spent three years in custody and stood trial.

"I beat it," he says. "But all that time I spent locked up, it was a blessing for me. I felt like God was really looking out for me. I'm trying to figure out why I'm even in here. I had no reason. I was never that type of guy. I was always the coolest dude you're ever going to meet, I was brought up by a great family, I had a great future, what the [expletive] am I doing? I was trippin'. Every day, I'm crying, talking to God, saying: 'If you get me out this situation, I promise, I'm never getting back in it.' "

He turned to music -- which, after all, ran in the family.

He'd been making demo tapes since high school -- at first, performing note-for-note re-creations of hit songs, and then writing his own music.

In New Jersey, he met Wyclef Jean of the Fugees and had a minor role on the hip-hop group's best-selling 1996 album, "The Score." But it wasn't until 2004 that Akon finally found success on his own -- after "Locked Up" became a smash single, "Trouble" went platinum and everybody freaked out about that voice.

"It's so unique," says Lisa Ivery, program director for XM Satellite Radio's hip-hop and R&;B channel, the City. "If you went to West Africa, to Senegal, you might find some people who sound similar to him. But not here."

Says Akon: "I inherited that old African folkloric-singer type of voice and I've incorporated it into today's urban music. It sounds like something brand new. A lot of people think my voice is processed until they come to a live show and see me sing." (You can hear for yourself when he tours with Stefani this spring, including a May 17 date at Nissan Pavilion.)

It's noon now, and church bells are ringing near the hotel. Akon's handlers are hovering impatiently. Everybody wants a piece of him, and there's only so much pie to go around.

He's constantly being bombarded by requests to work with other artists: Michael Jackson, reggaeton kingpin Daddy Yankee, Atlanta rapper Young Jeezy, maybe even Elton John. He's a master collaborator-for-hire, producing, writing and singing the hooks on other people's records. Vibe's Caramanica calls it "vertical integration," modern music-biz style, and says the strategy will ensure Akon career longevity. "Maybe not in a conventional pop-star way, but he'll probably never want for work."

Most certainly not now.

"It's so crazy," Akon says, lounging poolside. "Everything's piling up on top of each other. We're just trying to organize all of it and get everything done."

He sighs for dramatic effect and lets loose one of those infectious, helium laughs. And then looks at his watch.

Staff researchers Magda Jean-Louis and Karl Evanzz contributed to this report.