Jelly’s Last Jam is the latest Broadway chestnut to get a spectacular revival thanks to New York City Center’s Encores! program, and it’s a true ensemble effort that is chockablock with showstopping production numbers. Nicholas Christopher, a relative newcomer as a leading man, commands the spotlight in the title role as the early-jazz legend Jelly Roll Morton. He’s blessed with a fierce intensity, an apple-crisp tenor voice and energetic dance moves that show Edgar Godineaux’s choreography in their best light.

But director Robert O’Hara’s effervescent production also provides glorious moments for a cast whose depths seem to know no limits. Billy Porter vamps it up as a kind of purgatorial prosecutor overseeing Morton’s reassessment of a remarkably bumpy life. Tony winner Joaquina Kalukango rips into two bluesy torch songs as Morton’s on-again-off-again lover, delivering lush vocals with unrivaled soulfulness. The 80-year-old legend Leslie Uggams brings a delicious snootiness to an Act 1 number as Morton’s snobby aunt (who decries the lower-class sounds of jazz). And Alaman Diadhiou delivers some taptastic turns as young Jelly.

Godineaux’s routines have a jazzlike quality, fusing synchronized choral routines with moments of individualization that build and build until the tension can only be released with spontaneous bursts of applause at the end. The cast’s efforts, backed by a tight 15-member band under Jason Michael Webb’s baton, produce the kind of electric charge that only the best of live theater can produce.

What’s intriguing about this 1992 musical, and perhaps one reason for the belated revival, is that it’s a biomusical with a surprisingly serious undercurrent. Far from a hagiographic account of a pioneering music maker, George C. Wolfe’s book puts Morton on trial in an art-deco purgatory for crimes of ego (he falsely claims to have been the sole inventor of jazz), callousness (he’s a serial cad in the romance department), and shocking racism (he flaunts his light-skinned Creole heritage and dismisses darker-skinned colleagues and friends). There’s more than a bit of Pal Joey or Harry Bogen (I Can Get It for You Wholesale) in this Morton, a man whose talent is as undeniable as his ability to alienate everybody around him.

That may be another reason why Morton so often cedes the stage to his co-stars, including a sultry trio of interstitial backup dancer/singers called the Hunnies (played here by the Broadway originals, Mamie Duncan-Gibbs, Stephanie Pope Lofgren, and Allison M. Williams). By shifting the focus from this undeniable (and seemingly unredeemable) jerk, the show is able to spotlight the music that remains Morton’s best legacy. It’s a welcome distraction, especially when delivered by performers this talented. Let’s hope this revival jelly-rolls to Broadway before too long.