A familiar road revisited as a shared memory, where two voices pause to reflect on distance, longing, and quiet endurance
When The Long and Winding Road was released in early 1973 as a duet by Cher & David Essex, it carried with it a weight of history that few cover versions ever manage to hold. Originally written by Paul McCartney and first released by The Beatles in 1970, the song was already deeply embedded in the emotional memory of listeners. Yet this new interpretation did something unexpected. It did not attempt to compete with the original, nor did it modernize it. Instead, it slowed the song down even further, turning it into a shared meditation. The public responded immediately. The single reached number one on the UK Singles Chart in February 1973, making it a chart topping success and one of the most talked about releases of that winter.
At the time, Cher was navigating a period of artistic transition. Her partnership with Sonny Bono had come to an end both personally and professionally, and she was searching for a new musical identity that felt honest rather than manufactured. Her voice, always distinctive, had taken on a deeper emotional grain, shaped by experience rather than pop polish. David Essex, meanwhile, was emerging as one of Britain’s most sensitive and expressive performers, known not just for his singing but for his work in musical theatre and film. His breakout role in Godspell had already marked him as an artist capable of vulnerability and introspection. Bringing these two voices together was not an obvious commercial decision, but it proved to be a deeply resonant one.
The story behind this recording is less about reinvention and more about recognition. Both artists understood that The Long and Winding Road is not a song that can be dominated. It must be approached carefully, almost respectfully. Their arrangement strips away excess, allowing space between phrases, letting silence speak where words fall short. Cher’s voice enters with a weary strength, carrying the sense of someone who has walked this road many times before. Essex responds not as a counterpoint, but as a companion, his tone gentle and reflective, never overpowering.
The meaning of the song remains rooted in its original message, but the duet reframes it. In the Beatles’ version, the song often feels like a solitary plea, a voice calling out across distance. In the Cher & David Essex recording, it becomes a dialogue. The long and winding road is no longer walked alone. It is shared, even if the destination remains uncertain. This subtle shift may explain why the song connected so strongly at that particular moment in time. The early 1970s were years of transition, marked by social change, economic unease, and a sense that familiar landmarks were quietly disappearing. This version of the song does not promise resolution. It simply acknowledges the journey.
Commercially, the success of the single surprised many observers. Cover versions of Beatles songs rarely topped the charts, particularly those so closely associated with the band’s final chapter. Yet this recording did just that, holding the number one position for a week and cementing itself as a defining moment in both artists’ careers. For Cher, it marked her first UK number one single, a significant milestone that confirmed her ability to connect on her own terms. For David Essex, it reinforced his reputation as an interpreter of songs who valued emotional truth over technical display.
Listening to The Long and Winding Road today, this duet feels like a pause in time. It does not rush. It does not ask for attention. It simply invites the listener to sit with it, to remember roads taken and those still ahead. There is no grand conclusion, no dramatic climax. The power lies in its restraint, in the understanding that some journeys do not need to be resolved to be meaningful. In this recording, Cher & David Essex do not offer answers. They offer companionship, and sometimes that is more than enough.