A bold detour into dance‑floor abandon: “Sin Of Love” by David Essex
There is something quietly exhilarating about finding an unexpected chapter in the story of an artist you thought you knew so well—and “Sin Of Love” is precisely that moment in David Essex’s career. Released in 1993 under the alias D‑Essex and later credited to David Essex himself, the track veers far from the glam‑rock, introspective ballads that made him famous, stepping instead into the pulsing world of Eurobeat and Italo‑dance.
While this song does not appear to have charted in the UK or United States pop or rock charts in the usual way—no official peak position is recorded in the major databases—its significance lies elsewhere. It surfaced primarily within the niche Italian/A‑Beat‑C Eurobeat scene and later among Japanese dance‑compilation culture, re‑recorded or re‑issued as an EP in 2021 titled SIN OF LOVE (A‑Beat‑C 12″ master) – EP.
Behind the music is a curious story of transformation. David Essex, known for the UK chart‑toppers like “Gonna Make You a Star” and the dramatic “Stardust”, took a bold turn in the early 1990s. Under the name D‑Essex, the song “Sin Of Love” was released on the Italo‑dance label A‑Beat‑C—an indication that Essex (or at least the production team behind the alias) was experimenting with genres far removed from his mid‑70s pop‑rock anthem era.
Musically, “Sin Of Love” is defined by high‑tempo rhythms, synthesised beats, bright keyboards and a vocal delivery that echoes (or perhaps re‑imagines) Essex’s smoother tones. The track’s credits list main songwriting by G. Caria, G. Pasquini, A. Contini and production typical of Eurobeat’s sleek, commercial engine.
In terms of meaning, the song moves away from the intimate confessions that characterised much of Essex’s earlier work and instead embraces the dramatic, even cinematic, notion of love as transgressive energy. “Sin of love” speaks not of gentle union but of the forbidden, the intense, the dance‑floor metaphor for desire that cannot be tamed quietly. The musical style underlines this: relentless beat, insistence, an urge to move, to lose control. For someone used to hearing Essex in moments of reflection (“Rock On”, “A Winter’s Tale”), this is the voice turned outward, to neon lights rather than candle‑glow.
For a listener grounded in memories of evenings with vinyls sliding into turntables and lamps low beside sofas, hearing “Sin Of Love” is like turning a corner into a surprising city alley: familiar architecture (the voice you know) but different lights, different sounds, a new tempo. It invites nostalgia not by replicating the past but by showing how far an artist was willing to travel from it.
Within the broader arc of David Essex’s career, the song is something of a footnote—but a fascinating one. It says: “I can still surprise you. I can still dance in a world you might not have expected me to.” As such, it captures both the boldness and the risk of reinvention. The fact that it resurfaced decades later in EP form (2021) suggests that this chapter, though off the main chart radar, resonated with niche audiences and has a life of its own.
If one were to draw a lesson from this unusual offering, it is that artists are not bound wholly by the identity that made them famous. And for the listener willing to follow, there are hidden corners of sound and emotion that reveal a different side of the songs and voices they thought they knew. “Sin Of Love” is such a corner—bright, surprising, and pulsating with the energy of something both new and oddly rooted in an established voice.
So, when you press play, allow yourself a moment to sit back, perhaps remember earlier hits of David Essex, then lean into the beat. The voice is familiar, yes — but the journey is different. And that difference may be the spark that reminds you how music can still surprise, even decades on.