David Essex’s “Bring In The Sun”: A Gentle Call to Embrace Life’s New Dawn – A Song About Welcoming Hope and Renewal with the Morning Light
When David Essex released “Bring In The Sun” in 1973, it didn’t storm the charts like his smash “Rock On”, which hit No. 3 in the UK and No. 5 on the Billboard Hot 100 that same year. Instead, tucked into his debut album Rock On, it remained a quieter treasure, never issued as a single, so no chart position marks its release. Yet, for those who owned that LP—its sleeve creased from countless spins—it glowed as a hidden gem, a soft counterpoint to the album’s edgier hits. For us older souls who caught its gentle strains on a crackling stereo or a late-night radio whisper, “Bring In The Sun” wasn’t about chart glory—it was a sunrise in sound, a song that still warms the edges of memory, pulling us back to a time when the world felt fresh with possibility, and Essex’s voice was a companion through the quiet moments we held dear.
The story of “Bring In The Sun” unfolds in the whirlwind of David Essex’s early fame, a lad from East London’s Plaistow who’d traded docker dreams for a spotlight that blazed in ’73. Fresh off his role as Jesus in Godspell and his film debut in That’ll Be The Day, he was a rising star at 26, his tousled hair and cheeky grin plastered across teen mags. The song came alive at Advision Studios, helmed by producer Jeff Wayne, the jingle genius who’d shaped “Rock On”’s stark pulse. Here, though, the vibe softened—Essex wrote it alone, his lyrics a tender sketch of morning’s promise, backed by a simple acoustic hum and a choir-like swell from backing singers like Julie Covington. Picture him there, pen in hand, dreaming of light after a year of relentless gigs and a tour with David Bowie’s gift, “All the Young Dudes”, still ringing in his ears. Released as glam rock dazzled and the UK reeled from oil shocks, it was a breath of calm—a sigh amid the glitter, cut just as Essex balanced his newborn son with a career catching fire.
At its heart, “Bring In The Sun” is a plea to let hope pierce the shadows, a lover’s wish to “bring in the Sun” and banish the night’s weight. “Finger of light reaches through the red curtain,” Essex croons, his tone a hushed reverie, “lying beside me, secure in your dreamworld, a glow on your face from the light of the Sun.” It’s a dawn breaking over a weary soul—“hours of flying, wheels in motion” fade as “the warmth from the light through the window signals a new world’s begun”—a call to “let the Sun come into your life” if “you see it shine in the morning time, your day is won.” There’s no grand drama, just a quiet yearning for renewal, a hand reaching for another in the soft glow of daybreak. For those of us who spun it back then, it’s a time capsule—the rustle of curtains in a childhood room, the hiss of a kettle as the day stirred, the way it felt to wake with the promise of something better, even if just for a moment.
This wasn’t Essex’s loudest roar—“Gonna Make You a Star” would top the UK charts in ’74—but “Bring In The Sun” was a whisper of his soul, a glimpse before he became the glam idol of Stardust or Che in Evita. It’s lived on in his catalog, a fan favorite resurfacing on compilations like The David Essex Collection, a gentle nod to a man who’d soon juggle fame with fatherhood and an OBE in ’99. For us who’ve aged with it, it’s a bridge to those early ’70s days—when you’d linger by a window, coffee in hand, watching the world wake; when Essex’s voice drifted from a Dansette, a friend through the stillness; when music was a soft nudge to keep going. Cue that old record, let its warmth fill the air, and you’re back—the scent of dew on grass, the flicker of sunlight through lace, the way “Bring In The Sun” felt like a promise we could still believe, a song that still lights the corners of a life well-remembered.