Rock Was the Devil’s Music But Now Christians Love It
Growing up in Nigeria in the 1970s and 80s, the relationship between Christianity and music was marked by tension and transformation. One of my older brothers, Lee Rapmans (Idoko Okenyodo) used to be a top radio DJ presenting one of Radio Benue Makurdi’s biggest radio shows, which played rock music for one hour.
Back then, rock music was an emblem of rebellion, often dismissed as “the devil’s music” by conservative Christians worldwide. Nigerian Christianity, deeply rooted in traditions and influenced by Western evangelicalism, echoed these sentiments. However, as we journey through the decades to the present, it is remarkable to see how much has changed. I remember one Sam Abah who had a studio and James Dzungwe, a revered producer from Sound Smith studios in Gboko. If you did rock music you faced extreme reverence or hate. Nothing in between.
Today, Nigerian gospel music is heavily infused with rock elements. Artists like Dunsin Oyekan, Nathaniel Bassey, Victoria Orenze, and the legendary Sinach have redefined gospel music, blending traditional praise with contemporary rock sounds. In fact, listening to Dunsin Oyekan’s sound without his voice, I always imagine the groups AC-DC, Thin Lizzy, John Cougar Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen. This shift raises a fascinating question: how did rock music transition from being vilified to becoming a powerful medium for worship in Nigerian Christianity? Is there something the matter, or it’s just how things change? I recall my reflections on the movie Conclave which drew criticism about me not commenting on the “woke agenda” of producing a transgender pope. Well, here is one change my critics are probably already living harmoniously with in Christendom!
Rock’s Christian Roots and the Shift to Rebellion
Historically, rock music owes much of its origin to Christian traditions. As Randall J. Stephens explores in his 2018 book The Devil’s Music: How Christians Inspired, Condemned, and Embraced Rock ‘n’ Roll, early rock pioneers like Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis were heavily influenced by Pentecostal worship styles. The ecstatic energy, rhythmic beats, and raw emotion of rock mirrored the fervour of the United States’ Southern Pentecostal churches.
This is also the case here in Nigeria as many of the campus fellowships in the 80s and 90s saw young people taking to expressing their love for Christ through rap music, rock, and later reggae. (We are doing so through the Rydeem of Light International Gospel Reggae Festival.) However, rock (and these cousins) soon became associated with rebellion, sensuality, and countercultural movements, and conservative Christians distanced themselves from it.
In Nigeria, the 1970s mirrored these global tensions. Churches emphasised hymns and traditional forms of worship, rejecting Western pop and rock music as corrupting influences. Parents warned children about the “ungodly” nature of such music, aligning with global evangelical sentiments that viewed rock as a tool of moral decay.
But the evangelical or Pentecostal movement was growing steadily, with the likes of David Oyedepo’s Living Faith Church and Chris Oyakhilome’s Christ Embassy ramping up numbers, and they needed distinct sounds to tell the young people that they were different from the Catholics, Anglicans and Methodists, and even more different from the ECWAs, COCINs and NKSTs.
The Rise of Gospel Rock in Nigeria
The turn of the millennium marked a significant shift. Nigerian gospel artists extended their experiments with contemporary sounds, further incorporating rock’s intensity and passion into their music. This evolution was not merely stylistic; it represented the theological shift I mentioned earlier. The energy of rock was reimagined as a tool for spiritual warfare and passionate worship. Rock seemed to embody the fervour of deliverance sessions, a form of exorcism popularised by the Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministry, popularly known as MFM. It’s not strange that MFM is symbolised by fire. Rock ‘n’ roll sessions are fiery.
Artists like Dunsin Oyekan have mastered this fusion, creating songs that feel like anthems for revival. His tracks often feature soaring guitar riffs and powerful drumming, reminiscent of Western rock ballads but rooted in African spirituality. I recall how much I love his song, “First it was fragrance, then it turned to fire/My worship is my weapon, that is how I win my battle.”
Similarly, Nathaniel Bassey’s trumpet-led worship and Victoria Orenze’s raw, heartfelt performances bring a rock-like intensity to Nigerian gospel. I love their performances, but having known all that was said about rock music in the past, I am often listening like I’m on minefield, expecting some scandal to blow up from the middle of a song.
A Circle Completed
Reflecting on this transformation, it becomes evident that Nigerian Christianity has come full circle. What was once condemned as worldly and profane has been redeemed and repurposed for worship. In another conversation, someone asked why pastors nowadays no longer have pictures of Jesus on their posters and billboards but pictures of General Overseers, often with their spouses. In the days of old, crusade billboards and posters carried an image of Jesus (even though wrongly depicted as a White man) but never the images of the pastors or General Overseers. My friend said this mirrors the broader narrative Stephens outlines in his book: the church’s ability to adapt, redeem, and sanctify cultural forms for the glory of God. Or, a church’s decline from its focus of redeeming lost souls to something more mundane, being lost in itself.
Anyway, this story of rock and Christianity shows the dynamic nature of faith, in my view. Some say God is the same today and forever. I agree. I actually think that it’s our knowledge of God that is changing and thus challenging a fixed image we had created or had been taught. As they say, if a chair is in a dark room and you didn’t know it was there, nor what colour it could be, when the light comes, and you know it’s a blue chair, it’s not the chair that changed but your knowledge. That’s like God.
The entirety of the rock n roll dilemma challenges us to reconsider how we engage with culture, urging us to discern, redeem, and innovate rather than outrightly reject. Again, this is my view.
Nigerian gospel music will continue to evolve, and then continue to remind us that what matters most is not the medium but the message.
Dunsin Oyekan once quoted someone on his Facebook wall in 2021, implying that the sound of worship changing is the signal of a new move of God. In fact, let me reproduce the quote:
Historically, every move of God has produced new music. Sometimes the music precipitated revival, sometimes it occurred during the revival but it was always present in the aftermath.
Now think about it, if worship is part of every movement of God, then where do you think the enemy will attack? Do you think he will have mercy and not attack at the point of weakness? If you think that you don’t know anything about the enemy and you don’t know anything about the art of warfare. – John Wimber
This quote is deep and I will not try to analyse it. I remember verses in the Bible that show that the devil creates nothing, so all can be used for God. Rock music, once the devil’s music, now amplifies the voice of Nigerian Christianity, proclaiming the timeless message of hope, love, and redemption. So can we say it is a signal of anything else? I’d like to know what you think.
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