At first glance the Lionel Hampton Jazz Club, located in the Hôtel Méridien in one of Paris's chic western arrondissements, appears to be an incongruous setting for an evening of poor man's zydeco. As the hotel's wealthy business clientele buzz around the immense lobby, music fans straggle towards the cosy backroom bar, renowned for putting on a regular line-up of black music stars. CJ Chenier strides across the room, irrespective of the culture clash, intent on sharing his zydeco passion with everyone, regardless of race, creed, colour - or income bracket!

Zydeco, an adaptation of white Cajun music where the traditional violin is replaced by accordion, emerged in Louisiana in the 1930s. But opinion is divided as to the origins of its name. Some claim that "zydeco" was a term used to refer to Louisiana's black population in the early 19th century. Being too poor to put meat on the table, black families regularly sat down to a meal of "beans". But CJ Chenier prefers to put more of a positive spin on things, saying "Zydeco was born at local house parties, at private get-togethers that took place in people's homes rather than in clubs. And what happened is everyone would turn up with fish and beans. That's where the term comes from."

CJ leans happily on the bar as his four musicians strike up on stage, enjoying the sheer spectacle of it all. The bass-player, who looks like a consummate redneck, sports a psychedelic flowery shirt while the drummer could have walked straight out of a hardcore rock band. The guitarist, with his baggy trousers and little round glasses, goes in for more of a student look, as if he could comfortably nip out and settle in for a classics lecture at the Sorbonne. In fact, the only member of the Red Louisiana Band who could be said to add even a hint of local colour is the percussionist who doubles up as the band's washboard-player.

In the wake of Katrina

After three minutes up on stage, however, the foursome shatter all form of prejudice and preconceived ideas. The bass is compellingly groovy and the Sorbonne-style guitarist throws himself into things with evident zeal. No doubt about it, the Red Louisiana Band is living proof that the bayou blues is not aimed at an ageing population! When the band launches into the third song, CJ Chenier strides up on stage, cutting an impressive figure with his prominent pectorals and flashing gold tooth. Shouldering his Baldoni accordion, and accompanied by drums and washboard, he strikes up a rhythm that could keep the crowd going all night. His raw, husky vocals, drawn from the seemingly abysmal depths of his chest, send shivers down the strongest spine and within ten minutes the surroundings have no importance at all. Even the rather formal-looking 'suits and ties' at the back of the room start tapping their feet zydeco-style and the crowd to the left of the stage start getting down to CJ and his band with a vengeance.

While they are clearly capable of bringing the house down with their ultra-danceable sound, CJ Chenier and his Red Louisiana Band alternate their more vibrant tracks with deeper, darker numbers. CJ has never forgotten the tragic events of August 2005 when Hurricane Katrina blew into town, leaving 1,500 dead (most of them in New Orleans) and tens of thousands homeless. Nor has he forgotten the federal authorities' negligence and fatal failure to intervene. Pre-Katrina, CJ had envisaged recording another upbeat album in the same vein as his Big Squeeze. But the album he ended up producing was The Desperate Kingdom of Love where the musical vibe oscillates between zydeco oomph and gut-wrenching blues.

On his new album, CJ not only dips into his father, Clifton's repertoire, but he also indulges in a Hank Williams cover, serving up an extremely moving rendition of Lost on the River – which definitely ranks as the saddest moment on the album. "The flood (in the wake of Katrina) was like a river," CJ says, "Everyone was scattered all over the place without knowing what was going on with their families and friends. No-one had any news at all. So for me the title of this song just seemed really appropriate."

Between hope and despair

The other cover, the title track which actually opens the album, was originally composed by PJ Harvey, the British indie rock star whose music is a million miles away from zydeco. "It was my agent who told me to listen to her song," says CJ, "And when I did I said to myself, 'Wow! That's New Orleans!' 'The Desperate Kingdom of Love' expresses exactly what I felt. New Orleans is the kingdom of music, the very birthplace of jazz. But everything's just desperate now. All the main squares with the big hotels and the main streets are OK; they're making money. But the poor still don't have a roof over their heads. They're still not getting any help!"

CJ Chenier's new album, which includes half a dozen of the accordionist's own compositions, is both a tribute to the dead and a message of hope to the survivors. And while this new offering strikes a decidedly serious note, the music is guaranteed to carry listeners away over and over again. CJ Chenier plays accordion the way Jimi Hendrix thrashed his guitar, his dexterity and the sheer force of his passion giving his instrument an unexpected rock edge. And live on stage he serves up an audacious mix of traditional melodies, spiced-up folk sounds and abrasive soul.

Zydeco, the music of the exiled and the eternally nostalgic, taps into the tragic history of the French population who were deported from Nova Scotia, in Canada, and shipped to Louisiana in the 18th century. And while CJ Chenier may not speak a word of French, his gut-wrenching vocals and emotion-charged accordion-playing speak the universal language of suffering all too well.