The Real Rhythm label, a new player in the Cuban music game, is out with three impressive releases of new music from the island we can’t seem to get enough of. The compilation Santeros y salseros offers a lightning-quick survey of almost the entire history of modern Cuban styles. Septeto Nacional de Ignacio Piñeiro’s Soneros de Cuba samples recent work by a band who’ve been playing son — perhaps Cuba’s most satisfying export — for more than seven decades. And Las Cecilias de Cuba’s ¿De que te quejas? introduces an adventurous, all-female group who are shaking up the scene in Havana right now.

Santeros y salseros is particularly impressive. Using contemporary recordings, the album offers a concise crash course on Cuban music: a toquay from the Afro-Cuban santería religion, street rumba, elegant 19th-century danzón, rural campesina music, romantic bolero, carnival conga, son, salsa, and chachachá. That there are still groups so good at playing all these historic styles says a lot about Cuba: it’s a place where innovation is constant but nothing ever seems to get lost.

The santería religion originated with the Yoruba people of Nigeria, and it survives in a vigorous, if antiquated, form in Cuba. The voice and percussion music that goes with santería practice is mysterious and beautiful. Abstract, melodious, call-and-response vocals drift over crisp, elegant percussion. This is not wall-of-sound drumming by any means but finely crafted rhythmic expression that creates a feeling of suspended time and a sense of enchantment that stand apart from all other percussion genres. Here, a selection led by 70-year-old drummer Carlos Aldama morphs through a set of rhythmic moods, each evoking a different Yoruba deity, or orisha.

The next piece, a rumba, is also just voice and percussion, and obviously African in origin. But the character is completely different, reflecting the music’s emphasis on sexual flirtation and social interaction as opposed to spirituality. Gregorio Hernández moves his ensemble Grupo Oba-Illú through all three varieties of rumba: yambú (slow), guaguancó (medium tempo), and columbia (fast). In these opening pieces, we get a clear view of the African side of Afro-Cuban music, and all the son, mambo, and modern salsa that follows is rooted in these styles.

Santeros y salseros then turns to the European side of the equation, focusing on the stylish and formal danzón, a genre that echoes French ballroom dance music that’s just about as antiquated as the santería toquay. Danzón is decidedly buttoned-down, but the percussive swing that would gradually nudge the sound toward son and its successors is audible. A sensuous urban bolero from Moraima Marín takes the music as far from African rhythm as it gets in Cuba; Punto Guajiro’s campesina romp evokes after-hours life on the plantation.

In son, all of these elements come together: the aggressive string picking from campesina, the sophistication and emotion of danzón and bolero, and the percussive kick of the rumba. This is the sound that reached Africa in the 1930s and caused such a stir in places like Kinshasa and Dakar. It seemed scandalous and indecent when it first emerged in the late 19th century, a sure sign that it would succeed. But even if it had not led directly to the most successful dance pop the world has seen — modern Afro-Cuban salsa — it would have stood on its own as a robust, unified sound culled from many disparate sources.

Septeto Nacional de Ignacio Piñeiro are named for their late founder, who introduced the trumpet as son’s signature lead instrument. Soneros de Cuba is a 1998 session in which the inheritors of Piñeiro’s venerable band stick to son conventions, revealing their relative youth only in the vigor and freshness of the performances. The Buena Vista Social Club has nothing on these guys, who shine on every track, from the melodic “En Guantánamo” to the expansive rhythmic bloom of “La chicha de la Calle Madrid,” in which the jangling tres mixes it up with the smart pop of bongo drums.

Las Cecilias de Cuba raise eyebrows as a hot all-female nine-piece outfit vying for turf in the male-dominated world of Cuban pop. Their music is more experimental than anything on the other two Real Rhythm releases, but like all Cuban pop, it plays off its roots, even while venturing to bring in the flavors of Dominican merengue and American rap. Their slow, tasty reading of the son classic “El Maniscero” is a treat, as is their coy take on the chachachá. Here and there the sound lapses into a generic Latin jazz rut, but overall they provide a satisfying cap to a delicious, three-course Cuban feast.