麻豆果冻传媒

Dispatch: New Orleans, Louisiana

From radio and podcasts to live performances, a Louisiana nonprofit provides American art forms for everybody.

Young artisans set up their wares around the edge of the courtyard while, on the stage, volunteers arrange the last pieces of sound equipment and the house DJ spins beats. The air is rich with the good scent of the lilac that climbs the walls. Guests arrive by the dozens.

Be Loud Studios鈥 annual Youth Voices Festival begins in a few minutes. This is the courtyard of Baldwin & Co., a Black-owned independent bookshop, coffeehouse, and event space on Elysian Fields Avenue in New Orleans. We鈥檙e mere blocks from the spot where, in 1892, Homer Plessy鈥檚 courageous civil disobedience found him forcibly removed from a 鈥渨hites only鈥 train car.

As I pass through, a young man named Marl贸n (aka DJ Mar) asks to interview me at his video booth, an iPhone on a stand. A high school student, Marl贸n has worked with Be Loud Studios for about a year. He wears glasses, a smile, and a peace sign pendant. He鈥檚 got good questions (鈥淗ow are you loud?鈥 and 鈥淲hat do you want our community to know?鈥), but he laughs, slightly nervous, when he initially forgets to hand me the microphone.

A girl in headphones interacts with a colorful device on a table, while a young adult in a camouflage hat assists her. A woman with curly hair observes from the side in a cozy living room.
DJs conducting interviews with guests during Be Loud Studios鈥 annual Youth Voices Festival on April 11, 2026.
Angela Moorman

Be Loud Studios, a local nonprofit that uses radio production to foster self-efficacy among the city鈥檚 schoolchildren, founded the Youth Voices Festival five years ago as a way to share audio projects made by teachers; over time the event has evolved into a showcase of both youth accomplishment and the wide array of equity work being done with the young people of New Orleans. Alex Owens, Be Loud鈥檚 co-founder, was a fellow with 麻豆果冻传媒, which funded this year鈥檚 festival in part.

I met Owens and the rest of the Be Loud staff yesterday at their Seventh Ward headquarters. I watched their final prep as they organized auxiliary cables, microphones, iPads, and headphones into piles labeled 鈥淪treet Interview,鈥 鈥淟istening Lounge,鈥 鈥淧odcast Studio.鈥 They debated whether the planned layout would promote enough interaction between attendees and young people.

Be Loud tries to give kids the space to translate the experience of being young for the rest of us, as Owens told me, 鈥渟o we can connect to them.鈥

The festival鈥檚 recording stations would be run by kids, and young people would emcee the afternoon show. After all, the festival is about 鈥渃elebrating youth leadership,鈥 explained Diana Turner, Be Loud鈥檚 other co-founder.

I liked watching them work. The Be Loud adults have all been schoolteachers, and they have a roll-up-your-sleeves-and-jump-in ethos about them.

Be Loud鈥檚 efforts began about a decade ago when Owens and Turner, teachers in the same school, were trying to reach a second grader named Byron who refused to write. They suggested radio to him, Owens recalled: 鈥淚f you make a script, we鈥檒l turn it into a radio show.鈥 Energized, Byron got off the bus the next morning with a full script, a story about homemade slime.

鈥淥ne thing I love about radio,鈥 Owens said, 鈥渋s that they don鈥檛 have to get it right [from the start]. They just need a sense of where they鈥檙e going.鈥

Turner remembers the early days as a pirate radio affair, with second through fourth graders holding antennas outside the school, broadcasting their stories to the carpool line. 鈥淲e鈥檙e not playing at 鈥榬adio station,鈥欌 Turner said, describing the kids鈥 feelings. 鈥淲e are a radio station.鈥

Be Loud, organized as a nonprofit in 2019, runs several initiatives now, including after-school programs, summer camps, public radio shows, and a Pass the Mic fellowship for teachers. Last year, their work reached 1,100 schoolchildren, with more than 800 recording something original.

While their work often provides kids the opportunity to be advocates for change, Be Loud doesn鈥檛 lead with this. 鈥淧art of equity work for us,鈥 Owens said, 鈥渋s leaving space for joy, leaving space for [students] to talk about things that they truly want to talk about.鈥澛

As Turner described it, kids first recognize that they have something to say and, second, realize that people will listen to them.

Be Loud also produces occasional larger projects, including Born After the Storm, a public radio narrative in which teenagers recorded personal stories about the impact of Hurricane Katrina.

In that story, you can hear Marl贸n, my festival interviewer, consider the startling reality that his parents had been his age when the storm robbed them of the prosaic things that now occupy his life: prom, friends, adolescent anxieties. He offers recognition of how life too easily becomes solipsistic, and how the act of reflecting aloud through public storytelling ties us to a greater thread of human experience, increasing self-awareness and empathy.

And Marl贸n tells me now, at the festival, how he鈥檚 discovered that he loves talking to people. That you can never really know someone until you ask them good questions. He can鈥檛 see himself doing anything in the future other than telling stories on screen or radio.

At a vendor table, I talk with Lucas, a sixth grader known as DJ Chalky, who鈥檚 selling his beautiful, whimsical ceramics. He participates in the Be Loud summer camps, and after recording a story, he tells me, 鈥淚 feel very happy, and sometimes proud.鈥

I speak with Byron, aka DJ Gossip, who is now a high school senior committed to Columbia College in Chicago, where he intends to study comedy and performance. Today, he鈥檒l appear in the festival show as Byronc茅, a persona he鈥檚 developed through school productions that includes wigs, costumes, and backup dancers. His time with Be Loud has taught him the importance of expressing himself; he enjoys inspiring others to do the same.

In the Listening Lounge, I wear headphones and listen to this year鈥檚 Pass the Mic fellowship projects. My favorite is 鈥淜INDergarten,鈥 by Savannah Nichols鈥檚 class. In the podcast, kindergarteners interview the 鈥渒indest people in school,鈥 and at the end remind us to remain kind even after kindergarten.

Four individuals engaged in a podcast recording around a wooden table, with microphones and a laptop present. A mural of a man decorates the wall behind them.
DJs record a live podcast during Be Loud Studios鈥 annual Youth Voices Festival on April 11, 2026.
Angela Moorman

Inside the bookshop, other Be Loud DJs record a live podcast. I listen in as they discuss the paradox of pressuring themselves to complete homework on devices such as iPads that are designed to distract us.

When the performance begins, a couple hundred adult attendees are gathered around the stage. We watch a performance by Dancing Grounds, a youth troupe that builds connection through dance.

We hear from Kai Davis, a young woman on a community reporting fellowship with Lede New Orleans, an organization that supports journalism by young Black and Brown writers and 鈥渇osters trusted spaces for civic discussion.鈥 Through a moving personal essay, Davis transports us to the Lower Ninth Ward, where her family鈥檚 memories are held.

We float with the New Voices New Orleans choir, made up of third through sixth graders, as they belt out 鈥淏e Who You Are,鈥 Jon Batiste鈥檚 recent hit: You can only be who you are!

A stunning performance by Girls Play Trumpets Too closes the show. The group is 鈥渁 program of empowerment,鈥 according to band director and jazz musician Troy Sawyer, whose family鈥檚 musical roots stretch back to the advent of the genre in New Orleans.

The girls sit in rows with their trumpets, making jazz standbys their own, reminding us that this American art form is for everybody. By the end of their set, the girls swing with a classic New Orleans groove. The crowd chants along鈥斺Ho na nae…ho na nae!鈥濃攁 Mardi Gras Indian anthem that ascends straight from this city鈥檚, this country鈥檚, musical DNA. Adults dance, cheer, and clap, honoring the girls, even when they trip over songs they鈥檙e still learning.

The youngest members of the band, grade-schoolers, step one-by-one to a microphone out front for solos. The word for it is courage. And as their fearless notes rise through the flowering lilac that climbs these courtyard walls, our feet stomp and our hearts beat in time, beating with hope.

Dispatch: New Orleans, Louisiana