Alison Fensterstock

No single lineage can contain New Orleans music. But one central thread is the legacy of queer performers and tastemakers — from Bobby Marchan to Big Freedia — who steered the sounds and the scenes.

The city has recovered from its fair share of disasters and displacements, but the situation it currently finds itself in is unprecedented.

Clarksdale, Miss. is home to both the crossroads where Robert Johnson allegedly sold his soul and the site of Bessie Smith's death. But in the legend of the genre, not every tale gets the same care.

The Louisiana native became a mentor to Fats Domino, transitioning from well-regarded horn player to producer and arranger of some of rock and roll's bedrock artists.

Over a career stretching back to the 1950s, Malcolm John Rebennack came to be a living symbol of the city of New Orleans and its bottomless musical character.

New Orleans has a fairly spotty track record when it comes to preserving cultural landmarks, but Buddy Bolden's blighted former residence may avoid being lost to time, as he nearly was.

Big Freedia has always repped New Orleans, becoming famous by insisting on being her sui generis self. How could you see someone who loves herself so much and not follow her to the dance floor?

The Southern soul survivor has made an album about strength: a holistic shot in the arm to help you find the fortitude to fight.

Low Cut Connie still makes full-bodied, red-blooded rock and roll, but offers a bit more nuance to its wild boogie.

Across several decades (and despite widespread sexism) women workers, supporters and associates shaped the story of America's most weird, colorful, sui generis rock and roll band.

Pan-generational brass bands join this joyous, weird trip through New Orleans cemeteries and streets, with cameos from stalwarts of local street culture.

The second album by Rickie Lee Jones was released in 1981, following a breakup and the response to Jones' Grammy-winning debut, and gets its name and its concept from a band of local drug smugglers.

The family gospel trio's new album is soul-stirring praise music married to the electric rhythms of Memphis.

Alynda Segarra takes her love of The Ronettes' lust-drenched rock 'n' roll Rosetta stone one step further and re-creates the trio's iconic 1965 TV performance.

Foster's easy-rocking slice of gospel soul is shot through with Derek Trucks' blissful slide guitar and tapping high heels recorded on her old church floor.

New Orleans' Queen of Bounce teaches us that your oddest qualities might be the things that make you the most fabulous

In the midst of her searching, tough and vulnerable Raw, written after her divorce from Neil Young, Pegi Young covers a Ray Charles tune that seems to come from the other side of love.

Gone 'Til November, transcribed from the journal he kept while at Rikers, isn't particularly revealing, but it offers a chance to stop and take stock of where the rapper has been since.

The sassy agent of rock 'n' roll chaos turns in an uncharacteristically hushed and spare song that approaches the twisted path of passion and loss with a new, sober gravity.

The familial feeling at the annual New Orleans gathering comes partly from its perennial performers, but now, 22 years in, whose nostalgia is being served?