Urchman Turns Yoruba Percussion Into Gospel Architecture

By Joey Akan

In the decade since Nigeria’s gospel scene began its accelerated evolution into a global-facing force, the genre has experimented with fusions, flirted with pop mimicry, and often diluted itself for mainstream acceptance. Yet during this, one producer has staked his claim on the opposite ethos: that gospel gains power not when it leaves its roots behind, but when it doubles down on them. That producer is Uchenna Benjamin, professionally known as Urchman, and his work on PianoPastor and Kemi Chant’s “Kosoruko” is evidence of this conviction turned into art.

The record dropped on December 20, 2024, and almost immediately found itself embraced not only in Nigerian churches but also across diaspora worship spaces in London and beyond. By the second week of January, it was being treated less like a single and more like a liturgical event an anthem for crossover vigils, for New Year services, for congregations looking to purge the secular and usher in the sacred. That transformation from release to ritual is not accidental. It is a product of Urchman’s production.

Urchman begins with the talking drum. In Yoruba culture, the drum is not rhythm but language—it converses, rebukes, praises, announces. On “Kosoruko”, it does all of these at once. Instead of relegating it to an ornamental layer, Urchman positions it as the track’s lead narrator, its heartbeat and its testimony. Around it, bata drums interlock with layered hand percussion, creating a fabric of rhythm that feels both ceremonial and urgent.
But the brilliance of Urchman’s production lies in what happens next. He refuses to trap the song in the past. Piano chords arrive not as decoration but as foundation, steadying the percussive frenzy, creating harmonic order in the middle of ritual chaos. His vocal production ensures that Kemi Chant’s soaring vocal and PianoPastor’s grounded cadence are not drowned by the drums but carried by them. He does not treat voice and percussion as competing forces. He treats them as co-witnesses. The result is an arrangement that feels both ancient and modern: Yoruba worship re-engineered into a global gospel record.

Here, the tension is striking. Urchman is not Yoruba. He is from Port Harcourt. And yet, he handles Yoruba musical traditions with a sensitivity that many insiders fail to achieve. Where others would mimic for effect, he translates for meaning. He listens, learns, and reconstructs. In doing so, he achieves something rare: authenticity without inheritance. This is not appropriation; it is stewardship. It is proof that gospel’s reach across cultures is strongest when handled with reverence.
This empathy also reflects Urchman’s own trajectory. Relocating to the UK widened his lens. He now produces at the intersection of Nigerian heritage and global diaspora realities. “Kosoruko” carries the weight of that movement. In London, it lands as memory: the sound of drums that recall home. But it also lands as continuity: proof that heritage does not dissolve in diaspora but can be reanimated. This duality memory and continuity is one of Urchman’s quiet signatures. He does not simply export sound. He transports experience.

As much as “Kosoruko” is a collaboration, it is also a statement about the producer’s role in gospel. Too often, the spotlight stops at the vocalist. But it is Urchman who builds the scaffolding of devotion here. He selects the timbres, arranges the rhythms, balances the mix, shapes the flow of worship itself. He turns percussion into architecture, constructing a space where the sacred can dwell. Without his hand, the song might have been another well-sung gospel track. With his hand, it becomes a cultural and spiritual event.

And that is why “Kosoruko” is not simply music. It is cleansing. The drums feel like exorcism, pushing away noise. The harmonies feel like healing, stitching wounds. In a generation drowning in distraction, Urchman engineers sanctuary. He does not allow gospel to mimic global pop formulas. Instead, he amplifies heritage until it commands relevance.

As a critic, I must be clear: the brilliance of “Kosoruko” is not defined by its vocalists, though both deliver with conviction. Its brilliance is defined by its production by the architecture that holds the performance in place. Urchman bends Yoruba history into gospel form and reclaims rhythm as theology. This is not incidental genius.

This is craft, rigor, and vision.

When the story of Nigerian gospel’s new chapter is told, “Kosoruko” will stand as a turning point. It proves that gospel does not have to escape its roots to achieve global resonance. It only needs producers with the courage to translate those roots faithfully. And in that history, Urchman’s name will not sit in the footnotes. It will be inscribed among the architects.

Because with “Kosoruko”, he did not just produce a record. He produced memory, devotion and the future.