Why the Soundtrack of 'Sinners' Is a Love Letter to the Black Church and Mississippi Blues

Yes, Sinners came out a couple of months ago, but much like the blues genre it leans into, its impact and influence linger.

The film told a tale of community and supremacy while using the soulful sounds of the South to tug at viewers’ heartstrings, leaving many-- including myself-- longing to grasp the deep-rooted significance of its songs.

Set in Clarksdale, Mississippi, the Ryan Coogler-directed film featured a standout character that didn’t appear in the credits: the music. Much like the role he embodied, Miles Caton’s character was steeped in the church. As a child, he led songs that filled the sanctuary, blowing away churchgoers who would’ve cheered for him whether he sang like an angel or couldn’t carry a tune. Thankfully, it was the former.

For those who grew up in church or the South, learning that Caton’s adolescence was spent in the choir isn’t surprising. It used to be almost a rite of passage for R&B and soul singers to hone their vocals in the chapel. Late legends like Whitney Houston, Sam Cooke, and Aretha Franklin could all testify to how their temple's choir stands shaped their iconic voices.

Like many before him, Caton’s character wrestled with the familiar tension: pleasing his preacher father by dedicating his voice to the Lord or chasing the spotlight to sing the blues that called to his soul. That good ole’ Mississippi blues-- that’s what he yearned to sing.

Having grown up in Mississippi myself, I’m no stranger to artists like Johnnie Taylor, Otis Redding, and Betty Wright. While none of them hailed from the ‘Sip, their music was a constant on my grandmother’s radio and remains a staple in my playlists today. Their voices, timeless yet raw, could evoke emotions like no other. Whether they sang about trying to make it to “soul heaven” or reminisced about first loves, their songs struck a chord that lingered long after the music stopped.

That emotion, that feeling, was the heart of Sinners.

One of the most powerful scenes in the film featured Delta Slim telling a pain-filled story. Overwhelmed with frustration and malice, he cut his words short and began to hum instead. For me, this moment echoed the old church saying, “Lord, if I can’t say another mumbling word, I’ll just wave my hand.” In this mostly improvised scene (so impressive, by the way), we witness a grown man crumble and express himself the only way he knows how—through music. If that’s not the purest form of art, I don’t know what is.

It reminded me of how enslaved people used hymns as more than just songs. They were tools-- for communication, faith, and survival. That tradition still resonates in the church and deeply influences singers today.

This theme came full circle when Remmick, the original evil vampire/culture vulture, revealed to Sammie that he wanted him specifically for his voice. He “sensed it.” For Remmick, Sammie’s talent wasn’t just a gift; it was a connection-- to Sammie’s ancestors who endured bondage and even to Remmick’s own, who perpetuated it. Like so many non-POC in the 21st century, Remmick didn’t care about Sammie or his abilities, only how he could exploit them for personal gain. Sound familiar?

All in all, Sinners captured one of the most profound elements of Black American identity. Our music has evolved over time, but its roots remain Southern-bred, church-nurtured, and pain-driven.

Thank you, Ryan. I’ma need that prequel though.