Chance The Rapper, Kanye West and hip-hop's higher calling

Rappers see themselves as sinners who keep the faith - with Chance the Rapper among the flock

Chance the Rapper believes his whole performance is infused with the Holy Spirit. Photograph: Angela Weiss/AFP/Getty Images)

Rap and Christianity are impossible to untangle. Religion is as much a part of the genre as the turntable, microphone and Run DMC’s black fedoras and white Adidas sneakers. A huge slice of American rappers were raised Christian and those teachings frequently manifest in their music. 2pac famously chanted “Hail Mary”; a huge cross inked across his back. Would his legend have resonated as deeply if not electrified by his intense spirituality?

Rappers see themselves as sinners. There are stacks of hip-hop songs about seeking redemption from their heavenly father – the promise of which is a key component of gangster rap's blood-soaked narratives. Jay Z asked his lord to "deliver me from my enemies" on Pray, a song from his rise-and-fall-of-a-drug-kingpin concept album American Gangster. The Notorious BIG often mused on the afterlife before his early death. The Wu-Tang Clan's dense mythology was pieced together with fragments from, among other elements, black crime fiction, martial arts movies, Five-Percent Nation ideology, Buddhism, Taoism and Christianity.

For some the hedonism can be all too much. Guys like Mase, Craig Mack and Malice of Clipse all left rap or reinvented themselves in an attempt to cleanse their souls. In the case of Mase – a 1990s Puff Daddy protégé – he temporarily quit the music industry to pursue a new career as a minister after receiving a vision that he was marching fans right into Hell.

When Chicago lyricist Chance The Rapper takes to The Helix stage in Dublin on November 23rd and 25th, he'll do so with the belief that his whole performance is infused with the Holy Spirit. Religion doesn't feature in his music in just oblique ways. Instead, Chance's latest album, Coloring Book, is as dedicated to Christianity as any mainstream rap album ever.

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On his 2013 breakthrough mixtape Acid Rap, Chancellor Bennett was like a lot of kids his age – raised from birth to believe in God, but who snuck out of church to drag cheap cigarettes in the car park. Though the album is a bright kaleidoscope of jazzy beats, juke jams, Curtis Mayfield funk, Saturday morning cartoons and Chance's freelwheeling vocal style, it's haunted by the spirit of his close friend Rodney Kyles Jr, who was stabbed to death in front of Chance.

On Juice, he admits, "I ain't really been myself since Rod passed". On Everybody's Something, Chance asks "Why's God's phone die every time that I call on Him?" He imagines what Jesus's Twitter account might look like. The then-20-year-old delves into his belief to find strength and answers.

On Coloring Book – released last May – Chance has the unshakable faith of a preacherman. Belief is at the forefront of almost every song. Opener All We Got features rapturous horns, energetic drum loops and the roof-raising Chicago Children's Choir. The hook on Blessings is distinctly gospel as Chance happily declares, "It seems like blessings keep falling in my lap". For those not of the same faith, his cast-iron optimism that religion is the answer to every one of life's problems can feel a little plastic and inauthentic. But you can sure picture these songs rocking church benches back and forth.

Gospel rap (or Christian rap) has been its own distinct genre for almost as long as hip-hop has existed. Like most musical styles characterised by promoting belief in a divine creator, its target market is niche and way off-mainstream. But Chance’s music may be the clearest iteration of how Christianity is one of the elements shaping the rap genre right now. There’s been a slew of recent releases with a more spiritual streak. In the Black Lives Matter era, many focus on more broader social and race relations issues. Worship remains a cornerstone of black communities that have suffered a devastating history of systematic, often violent oppression.

Ahead of the release of The Life of Pablo last February (which had previously been titled So Help Me God), Kanye West promised he would deliver his "a gospel album with a whole lot of cursing on it". Opener Ultralight Beam begins with four-year-old Natalie Green banishing out the demons: "We don't want no devils in the house, God. We want the lord!" she screams.

West's struggles with balancing faith with the vices that come with being a rap star run throughout his work. Salvation and religious symbolry are motifs that have punctuated his output ever since he envisioned a world where nightclubs chant Christ's name on Jesus Walks. But on Ultralight Beam, the Pentecostalism cries, church-style organ chords, powerful choir chants and thunderous drum thumps echo out with a wave of positive energy. "Father, this prayer is for everyone that feels they're not good enough," yells acclaimed gospel musician Kirk Franklin. Chance actually featured on the track too.

On his excellent recent album The Healing Component, Mick Jenkins, another native of Chicago, calls on listeners to spread the love. On a deep-thinking record that covers police brutality and systematic racism, the 25-year-old envisions pop music's oldest trope "love" as humanity's "healing component", as taught to him by the Bible. "The basics of his message was love," Jenkins raps on Spread Love, referring to Jesus. "The basics just loving yourself and projecting that love onto others."

Elsewhere, How Much A Dollar Cost, from Kendrick Lemar's 2014 classic album To Pimp A Butterfly, sees the LA rapper refusing a homeless man begging for cash, only to discover the beggar is God and the cost of refusing is Lemar's place in heaven. Like Chance's output, Lamar's music is filled with pleas for spiritual guidance from above. His single Alright has become the definitive anthem for the Black Lives Matter movement. On it, Kendrick aligns himself with what he believes are divine powers of good: "If god got us then we gon' be alright."

Chance The Rapper's Coloring Book is much more like Sunday service in its approach. Gospel music invigorates, in theory, because the artist channels his performance from a higher power – a force greater than arrangement choices or chord progressions. For those moved by its power, the Dublin shows will be an opportunity to bless themselves and kiss the sky.