It’s popular for musicians to credit the church as their foundation, but it’s not cliche. There’s a deep-rooted reason for it: It happens for the same reason that there’s a “To God Be the Glory” tag at the end of Nollywood films. It’s the same reason many Nigerian corporate institutions begin their business days with praise, worship, and prayers before getting into daily operations. These things happen because of a nationwide commitment to religion and an acknowledgement of the divine, which forms the bedrock of many Nigerians’ lives. Because music reflects reality, that innate urge to run towards the gospel shows up regularly in popular music. Subtly or directly, Nigerian musicians recognise a supreme being above them, say prayers, count their blessings, and acknowledge their mortality and life’s vanity.

Gospel music and secular music have never been far off from each other in Nigeria. Throughout Nigerian history, secular artists have tried to keep their faith and connection to God in their music.  The deepening of that connection in Nigeria can be traced to the country’s turbulent history in the late 1970s and 1980s, as it experienced seismic shifts in its political and socio-cultural framework. The ouster of President Shehu Shagari following the 1983 coup d’etat came with a curfew on nightlife and censorship on the media. The tumbling price of crude oil also left the country in a recession. In effect, church attendance grew because people could only envisage being saved by the divine. With Nigerians having an affinity for music, many people who came into the church were there for the hopeful music; eventually being drawn to the choir, and access to musical instruments. 

Far from the old hymnals and revival songs of the 1960s, Gospel music at that time had a new trajectory driven by the influence of the American Pentecostal movement as well as the Country, Folk, and Gospel music of  Jim Reeves and Johnny Cash. The music emphasised energetic contemporary music and helped birth a new era of Gospel musicians. Across Nigeria, local Scripture Union members formed bands that embodied the “praise and worship” format.  

The spread of this format sparked a wider movement, with other Pentecostal groups embracing similar styles and nurturing a generation of ministers who made gospel music such as Lazarus Brothers, The Good Women of the Christ Apostolic Church, Evangelist Bola Are, and Panam Percy Paul. Gospel music enjoyed more visibility as the ban and slow disappearance of nightlife caused the winddown of Juju, which significantly infused church hymns into its structure from the mid-80s.  

Even the late Fatai Rolling Dollars played drums for money in churches when he lost his musical instruments to fire during the military raid at Fela Kuti’s Kalakuta Republic in 1977. The spread of the Pentecostal movement demanded more Gospel bands, creating more opportunities for musicians. Gospel music concerts, powered by established churches and ministry bodies, became a regular occurrence, providing an avenue for musicians to earn an income.

As Nigeria transitioned out of military rule in 1999, a new wave of musical inspiration began to come to the fore. With American pop culture gaining more influence through radio and TV, young Nigerian talents, many of whom got their start in church choirs, began looking outward. Pop music, with its glamour and global appeal, quickly became the new frontier. It offered not just self-expression but the promise of fame and money. For many, the church was where they learned the basics: how to sing, play instruments, and harmonise. But the mainstream was where they now wanted to shine. 

Aspiring musicians picked up production software and experimented with beats while others put their vocals to use either as singers or rappers. The focus had shifted: Gospel music had nurtured them, but secular music was calling. Conversely, there was a new shift in Nigerian Gospel at that time. The renaissance came courtesy of acts like Sam Okposo, Good Women Choir, Broda Martyns, and Kunle Ajayi, who filtered their Gospel messages through a Pop-adjacent style. Afro-Gospel rose to fame around 2011, thanks to the work of pioneering acts like Mike Abdul, Gaise Baba, DaBoomsha, and Limoblaze, who created Afropop-leaning music that glorified God. 

As Afropop started to blossom in the early 2000s, Gospel and its redemptive powers continued to be a force to reckon with. Secular albums from that era typically included at least one track reflecting on faith, spirituality, or themes linked to the gospel. From 2Face Idibia’s “Thank U Lord” off 2004’s ‘Face 2 Face’ to Faze’s “Thank You” off ‘Faze Alone’ released in the same year to Timaya’s “Ogologomma” released as part of ‘True Story’ in 2007, examples of Gospel working its way into Afropop abound. M.I Abaga’s formative years as a pastor’s kid may not matter much now, but his first album ‘Talk About It’  housed “Jehovah”, a Hip-Hop-influenced interpretation of the popular shepherd’s psalm. 

Perhaps, certain secular artists only remember their faith and God due to years of religious indoctrination, but it doesn’t diminish the earnestness of their surrender to the divine. “So Ope” and “Jehovah” on Wande Coal’s debut album, ‘Mushin2Mo’Hits,’ acknowledge that divine grace found him — an appropriate way to describe a celebrity lifestyle after escape from Mushin’s rough life and decadence. It’s even more humbling to most that they made it out with their singing abilities, which they mostly honed in the church.

The 2010s was a tough decade for Gospel in Afropop.  As the genre began to court global attention, the music and its movement became larger than life, demanding new subject matter for inspiration. A new generation of Afropop stars emerged, and gospel-inspired tracks were almost a relic. We only got occasional reminders of it from select members of that new generation. From Wizkid’s “Oluwa Loni” off 2011’s ‘Superstar’ to Olamide’s “Lift Him High” off ‘Rapsodi’ released in the same year, as well as Davido’s “Bless Me” off 2012’s ‘Omo Baba Olowo: The Genesis’ to Burna Boy’s “Jah’s Love Is True” released as part of ‘L.I.F.E.’ in 2013, they respected the tradition but didn’t carry it past their debut albums. 

When Wizkid’s “Ojuelegba” took off in 2015, worship and religion in Afropop had already morphed from special tracks and standalones on albums to the genre mixing with the secular on the same track. On the song, Wizkid sings about Ojuelegba, a middle-class area in Lagos that first witnessed his musical talent, and mused philosophically about life. Still, he also encourages praying when facing uncertainties (“Call on daddy, Baba God / Adura a gba o”)–it was a startling reminder of how deeply the gospel is woven into the fabric of Afropop. 

It would take another recession for Gospel to return in force. Around 2016, the Nigerian economy hit a recession due to industrial and infrastructural problems that were exacerbated by a global slump in oil prices. Citizens across Nigeria became poorer, and there was a palpable sense of despair everywhere you turned. As expected in a deeply religious yet imperfect nation, cries to the divine went up. Victor AD’s 2018 hit single, “Wetin We Gain,” is built around soliciting the help of a divine power to assuage his family’s overwhelming needs. That same year, Chinko Ekun bagged a hit with “Able God”, a playful request for showers of blessings in the form of credit alerts. In 2019, veteran Jaywon, too, scored a hit on his remix of “Aje,” teaming up with Barry Jhay and Lyta on a song that voiced their yearning for financial freedom against the backdrop of a crippling economic crisis. 

In recent years, sounds from the streets have greatly impacted Afropop, marking another micro-evolution in the genre’s journey. The emergence of street voices has seen the infusion of religion, worship, and prayers deeper into the DNA of the genre. Traditionally, Street-Pop has always leaned on aspirations, hustle culture, and melancholy. The one element that consistently tied all of it together is a belief in divine providence. Some listeners have linked the inception of Street-Pop’s gospel arc to Olamide’s “Jale,” which interpolates the 2004 song “Omije Ojumi” (meaning “Tears of My Eyes”) by ECWA Yoruba Choir Mushin. Others say it’s QDot’s  2013 hit “Alomo Meta,” also dubbed “Orin Emi” – meaning “Song of the Spirit” and commonly associated with the Celestial Church Movement in Nigeria. On the song, QDot employs the signature drum pattern of the Celestial Church and contorts some of their popular songs and melodies into a catchy worldly version that caters to the streetwise sensibilities of his primary audience.

From Barry Jhay to Mohbad, Bella Shmurda, T.I. Blaze, and Seyi Vibez, Street-Pop’s storytelling still thrives on the same tenets. It expounds on trench life, spiritual battles, beliefs in higher powers, their mothers’ fervent prayers, and surviving hard times. Even while admitting that they usually turn to sinning when winning isn’t forthcoming, they still give God all the glory or ask for divine support. The kids may leave the church, but you can’t take the church out of them, especially when they are anchored by their mothers’ prayers.

A common theme that runs through Asake’s unprecedented Afropop takeover is a clear sonic identity built on Gospel-style vocals and a stacked, choir-like back-up. It explains why some of his songs may feel like Sunday morning Thanksgiving meets midnight club turn-up. Over a groovy beat on “Baba God,” Asake dispels naysayers, confident that he’s backed by a supreme being who won’t let him fail.  On “Nzaza,” there’s urgency to his supplication and panache to his attitude as he requests a complimentary and exhilarating breakthrough that makes the world stop for him. In colloquial terms, what Asake did on “Nzaza” is known as “acting like your miracle.” His trajectory suggests that his faith worked with his prayers–he is Afropop’s greatest breakout story. 

It’s no wonder the core of Street-Pop can be traced back to the first generation of Nigerians who accepted the Pentecostal gospel. They infused their traditional understanding of faith into Christian music in the 1930s.  That unbroken lineage of continuity between faith and popular music shows up in Teni Makanaki’s “Malaika,” which is directly inspired by “Eli Eli Jah,” a popular hymn of the Cherubim and Seraphim Church. In the song, Teni is in the spirit of worship and asks for an angel to descend on her or come into her space. Rapper OluwaMillar’s “Opelope Anointing” samples and interpolates Evangelist Dunni Olanrewaju’s 2000 song of the same title in a time-honed tradition of using gospel themes to acknowledge divine intervention. 

Sampling and interpolation of Gospel songs in Afropop isn’t new. They reclaim the cultural blend of African traditional music and Christian worship while affirming the artists’ roots, community, history, and spiritual identity. Also, sometimes it’s not just sounds, it’s the language. Asake’s “Peace Be Unto You” borrows heavily from church lingo. Adekunle Gold’s “Ire” is a modern hymn that could close a church service. The link between modern sounds and older, respected forms of expression grounds contemporary Pop in shared heritage. Afropop is far from sanctimonious, but it stays tethered to the gospel. It carries the spiritual essence of African music traditions, and since Gospel music in Africa often blends traditional hymns with Christian messages, Afropop naturally carries the traces of this fusion. The line between the sacred and the secular is fluid in African music, and Afropop truly reflects that.