A song that turns applause into accusation, revealing how power survives on spectacle as much as devotion
Upon its release in 1976 as part of the concept album Evita, And the Money Kept Rolling In arrived already framed by success. The album, credited to David Essex and the original cast, reached number one on the UK Albums Chart and quickly established itself as more than a theatrical curiosity. Within that achievement, David Essex, portraying Che, became the sharp conscience of the work, delivering a song that functions as both commentary and confrontation. The chart performance of Evita ensured that this number was not confined to the theatre but absorbed into the wider musical consciousness of the era.
At its core, And the Money Kept Rolling In is not a celebration of wealth or triumph. It is an exposé, sung with a knowing half smile that never quite hides its unease. The song documents the moment when Eva Perón’s public fundraising tour of Europe turns into a spectacle of contradiction. Applause grows louder, donations increase, and yet the central question remains unresolved. What is truly being purchased, goodwill or power? Through Che’s narration, the song frames success as something transactional, a rhythm driven by public adoration and private calculation.
Musically, the piece is relentless by design. The marching pulse suggests forward motion that cannot be stopped, echoing the momentum of political myth once it gains public traction. Essex’s vocal delivery is crucial here. He does not rage. He observes. There is irony in his tone, a sense that the machinery of fame and influence has already passed the point where moral judgment can slow it down. This restraint makes the critique sharper. The listener is invited to recognize the pattern rather than be instructed on what to think.
Lyrically, the repetition of the central phrase functions like a ledger being read aloud. Each return reinforces the idea that public virtue and private ambition are often indistinguishable when wrapped in ceremony. The song does not accuse Eva directly. Instead, it indicts the system that rewards charisma and narrative over substance. In doing so, it transcends its historical setting. The story of money, image, and loyalty feeding one another remains painfully familiar across decades and borders.
Within Evita, this song plays a structural role as well. It marks a turning point where idealism begins to erode under scrutiny. Che’s voice becomes the listener’s anchor, grounding the glamour in skepticism. Without this moment, the album risks romantic excess. With it, the work gains balance and credibility, acknowledging both the emotional pull of Eva Perón and the cost of her ascent.
Over time, And the Money Kept Rolling In has endured because it understands something essential about power. It rarely announces itself honestly. It sings, it smiles, it collects, and it moves on. In the hands of David Essex, the song becomes a mirror held up to history and, uncomfortably, to the present. That is why it still resonates. Not as a relic of musical theatre, but as a reminder that the sound of coins falling can be mistaken for applause, and often is.