Even if his dad, king of zydeco Clifton Chenier, hadn’t tagged C.J. to eventually succeed him, inevitably the younger musician would have made his mark in R&B, jazz and funk. Zydeco’s the better for it — C.J.’s run as a top-flight artist/band leader has stretched nearly 20 years after apprenticing with the best. Among the lessons imparted from the king to the crowned prince were always be yourself and never be afraid of taking chances if you’re going to be an innovator. Consequently, C.J.’s seventh disc is his most risk-taking and diverse affair yet, an adventurous plunge into zydeco-less frontiers while still honoring the family legacy.

Recorded just weeks after New Orleans and the Gulf Coast’s hurricane devastation, C.J. opted to bookend these proceedings not with euphoric dance music but with bittersweet ballads (“The Desperate Kingdom of Love,” “Comfort You”) that offer consoling messages. A couple of tracks find C.J. tinkling the Hammond B3 in a jazz-tinged mood and also, surprisingly enough, on a version of Hank Williams’ “Lost on the River” that’s built upon beautiful sincerity and a peaceful, rolling arrangement.

But it’s not as radical as it sounds. Zydeco still rules — it’s just cast in a different light. Some of the disc’s best moments are jamming ones with Tarbox Ramblers’ Michael Tarbox trading growling slide guitar riffs with C.J.’s delicate, finger-dancing solos for an incredible juxtaposition of styles.

Yet C.J. never forgets what launched him and covers four of Clifton’s songs. Of this lot, “Rosemary” comes closest to Clifton’s signature style when he recorded with pianist Elmore Nixon. “Bogalusa Boogie” is dedicated to the fallen “Gatemouth” Brown, with blitzing chords flying everywhere. If anything, it’s apparent that C.J. won’t be bound to zydeco, but he can return to the sacred grounds any damn time he chooses.