NEW YORK – By now, Queen Latifah is accustomed to the disbelief of people who hear she’s recorded a set of jazz and blues standards, complete with lavish strings and guests such as the Rev. Al Green.

The conversations – and there have been dozens, Latifah laughs – typically begin with a stunned “You did what, girl?”

After the shock wears off, she politely reminds folks that ever since 1989, when she demonstrated her distinct rhyming style on the grabby “Ladies First,” the 34-year-old mogul from Newark, N.J., has confounded an entertainment industry that has consistently underestimated her reach.

“Can I get a Golden Foot Award? I mean, I been having to kick down walls for so many years,” the gregarious artist born Dana Owens says with that trademark sparkle in her eye. “To me it’s an obligation to try things like this.”

But in the next breath, Latifah – whose first all-out vocal effort, “The Dana Owens Album,” arrived Tuesday – concedes that, though she sang for years before she rapped, she was once reluctant to show the full dimension of her talent.

“Part of me was worried about street cred, which now I think is totally meaningless,” she says in a Manhattan hotel, during one of her last chances to talk about music before entering the promotional full-court press for her latest movie, “Taxi,” opening Oct. 8.

The confluence of projects is the first time the highly visible CoverGirl cosmetics spokeswoman, artist manager, former sitcom actress (Fox’s long-running “Living Single”), film star (among her credits: 2002’s “Chicago,” which earned her an Oscar nomination, and the 2003 Steve Martin comedy, “Bringing Down the House”) and producer (her company is behind the current “The Cookout,” which she cowrote) has had so many facets of her talent on display at once.

The first female MC to have a gold record still considers herself foremost a hip-hop artist. And though Latifah sang on her rap albums (most notably 1998’s R&B-leaning “Order in the Court”), it was the hip-hop code that prevented her from fully plunging into jazz earlier.

“I didn’t want to be “soft,’ I was afraid to take chances. I think lots of people in hip-hop were afraid like that. Look, hip-hop, we’ve boxed ourselves in. We did it to ourselves, and after being away from it for a few years, it was easy to see that. …

“I remember talking to Ja Rule after his first record. I told him, “You need to sing,’ and he was like all worried. … Well, look what happens: It takes him a few years, and he blows up. Singing.”

The mighty Latifah is in full roar now. “You do it so you can expand the genre. Don’t keep everything the way it was, especially because the industry wants everyone to stay in their little box. I came to a point where the beats and rhymes were too small to contain me. There was more to say.”

Then, this: “I dream songs. Not rhymes.”

If that’s true, then “The Dana Owens Album” conjures the elegant splendor of a 1955 showroom filled with tiered, crushed-velvet banquettes. Everyone is dressed to the nines, there’s a full orchestra in the pit, and when Latifah emerges, singing a sassy blues or the tongue-twisting King Pleasure hit “Moody’s Mood for Love,” time melts.

The music mirrors the decorum of the times: It’s full of grace, with a touch of Sarah Vaughan suppleness and the slightest hint of Billie Holiday sadness. This isn’t torch singing as some suave throwback, it’s nuanced expression, a chance to articulate something too subtle for two turntables and a microphone.

“The Dana Owens project,” with production by Arif Mardin (Norah Jones) and Ron Fair (the O’Jays), had been simmering on the back burner for years. Latifah sang the Duke Ellington/Billy Strayhorn classic “Lush Life” on the soundtrack of the 1998 film “Living Out Loud” – it’s “Dana Owens”‘ only previously released track – and found the experience was transformative.

It took her a while to get fully in touch with her vocal persona. “With Arif, he’s like an encyclopedia, and I was trying to get the “right’ take. Once we had what we thought we needed, I’d go back and mess around. That was when all the good stuff happened.”

“I’m not one of those people who feels every note should be perfect. Listen to those singers in the 50s and 60s: Some of the character came from the fact that they had to keep going, they couldn’t fix everything. I like it when the voice cracks or when there’s a snag . . . That’s when the personality comes into a record.”