The gospel world is mourning the loss of Richard Smallwood, a composer, pianist, and songwriter whose music didn’t just fill churches—it carried them. Reports confirm that Smallwood passed away on Tuesday, December 30, 2025, at age 77, with multiple outlets citing complications from kidney failure.
If you’ve ever been in a service where the room got quiet—that quiet where everyone is feeling the same thing at once—there’s a good chance a Richard Smallwood song was nearby. His music lived in choir stands, altar calls, radio rotations, rehearsal rooms, and those moments when a single lyric feels like it’s reading your mail.
A gift that showed up early—and never left
Smallwood was born in Atlanta and raised in Washington, D.C. From childhood, his relationship with music was deep and natural—he was known for extraordinary ability at the piano from a very young age, and that early gift became the foundation for a lifetime of creating music that felt both masterful and deeply human.
He later studied at Howard University, where his classical training helped shape the sound he became famous for: gospel rooted in church tradition, but elevated with rich harmony, disciplined arrangement, and a sense of musical architecture that choir directors still admire (and sometimes fear… because yes, some of those parts are no joke).
The Richard Smallwood Singers, Vision, and a signature sound
Smallwood’s impact isn’t limited to one era or one group. He founded the Richard Smallwood Singers and later formed Vision, creating a body of work that blended gospel, classical influence, and contemporary soul in a way that felt timeless—even when it was brand new.
Part of what made his music stand out was how it moved: big dynamic builds, thoughtful chord progressions, and arrangements that gave singers room to testify without losing musical precision. He wrote songs that sounded like they belonged in a cathedral and a neighborhood church at the same time.
“Total Praise” and the songs that became sacred staples
It’s hard to summarize Richard Smallwood without mentioning “Total Praise.” For many people, that song isn’t just a favorite—it’s a fixture. It’s the kind of piece that can turn a room full of individuals into one shared voice in about 30 seconds.
And then there’s “I Love the Lord,” widely associated with Whitney Houston’s unforgettable performance in The Preacher’s Wife. That moment introduced many listeners to the depth of Smallwood’s writing, and it remains one of the most emotionally resonant intersections of gospel and mainstream audiences in modern music history.
His songs were also performed and referenced by major artists across genres—showing how far his pen traveled beyond traditional gospel spaces.
Accomplishments that tell only part of the story
Awards and milestones matter—and Smallwood had plenty. He received major recognition across the gospel industry, including multiple Grammy nominations, and he was inducted into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame (2006). But even those honors don’t fully capture what he accomplished, because his greatest achievement may be this:
He wrote songs that stayed.
Songs that outlast trends. Songs that still work whether they’re sung by a 10-person choir or a 200-voice mass choir. Songs that can comfort you on your best day and your worst day—sometimes in the same verse.
The legacy: a blueprint for worship and excellence
Richard Smallwood leaves behind more than recordings. He leaves behind a blueprint—one that says gospel music can be spiritually powerful and musically excellent, emotionally direct and harmonically rich, deeply personal and universally singable.
In later years, reports note he faced serious health challenges, including dementia. Even so, his catalog continues to do what it has always done: lift people, steady people, and remind people that praise can be both a celebration and a lifeline.
Today, as we remember him, maybe the best tribute is the simplest one: press play again. Revisit the classics. Share them with someone who’s never heard them. And if you’re a musician, choir member, or director—pull out that chart you love (or the one that scares you) and bring it back to life.
Rest in peace, Maestro. And thank you for the music.
