Echoes of the Past: The Folk Tradition of Cover Songs and The Moon & The Mind’s Rendition of “Sex & Candy”
Part Five: Disco Lemons & Distorted Truths
There are songs that burrow into your psyche not because they make sense, but because they don’t. “Sex and Candy” by Marcy Playground is one of those strange beasts—a slow, sticky fever dream of a hit that crept onto the airwaves in 1997 and never quite left. Built on lethargic groove, abstract imagery, and the kind of stoned clarity you only get while stone-cold sober, the track became a slacker anthem for a generation too dazed to care and too smart not to notice.
According to frontman John Wozniak, the iconic title phrase didn’t come from a late-night writing binge or poetic epiphany, but rather from a moment in a dorm room at Bryn Mawr College in the late '80s. He and his then-girlfriend were interrupted by a roommate who wandered in and casually remarked, “It smells like sex and candy in here” (Ortega, 2010). That throwaway comment would rattle around in Wozniak’s head for years, resurfacing when he sat down in the early '90s to write something equal parts nonsensical and alluring—pulling invented phrases like “disco lemonade” and “platform double-suede” straight out of the ether.
Wozniak has offered conflicting interpretations over the years. In a 1997 Billboard interview, he claimed the song was a love song—his answer to the formulaic sap of '80s radio hits. He admired Cole Porter and The Beatles but sought to write a love song that didn’t play by the rules, especially when it came to lyrics (“Sex and Candy,” n.d.). That spirit of controlled rebellion—seductive, strange, and entirely unbothered—is what made the track a hit, even as it baffled just about everyone trying to figure out what the hell it was about.
When it came time for The Moon & The Mind to tackle their own version of “Sex and Candy,” the song surfaced early in production talks for Blankets, their concept cover album. Ramon recalls suggesting it during the original brainstorming sessions, drawn to it not only for its iconic weirdness but for its deceptive simplicity. “It was one of those songs I learned when I got my first guitar,” he said. “Three chords, but endless ways to play it. It just sticks with you.”
Ayla’s first demo took that simplicity and twisted it into something entirely new. Her vocal take layered an eerie softness in the verses—less haunting than spectral—and swelled into a sultrier, more assertive chorus. From the beginning, her interpretation turned the song’s male-gaze detachment into something more hypnotic, more embodied.
Vocals mostly in place, Ramon shifted focus to the arrangement. He knew he wanted a more atmospheric, spacious sound, and with the vocal takes in the can, he reached out to label mate Justin Wood (Careless Light / The Elephant March). “I asked him which track he’d want to guest on, and without hesitation he said ‘Sex and Candy,’” Ramon said. “I sent him the stems, told him to go nuts.”
What came back wasn’t just a feature—it was a full reinterpretation. Wood had added drums, ambient synth textures, and a sprawling electric guitar section that reimagined the song’s slow drag as something darker and dreamier. Ramon loved the vibe but wanted to reshape it further. He dialed up the bass grit, reworked the drum beat, stripped away some of the thinner MIDI layers, and sculpted the mix to let the vocals hover somewhere between bedroom confession and distant memory. A bit of distortion in the chorus and light reverb in the verses brought it all together.
But not everyone was immediately sold.
“When I sent the mix to Ayla, she thought her voice was pitchy,” Ramon recalled. “She asked if I could throw some autotune on it. I just couldn’t do it. I’m not interested in making perfect pop vocals. That’s not the kind of producer I am.”
Instead, he leaned harder into the dual vocal layers—carefully balancing them to create a natural chorus effect and preserve the human feel. “That decision wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “It’s hard to push back against the artist you’re working with, especially when it’s something personal like their voice. But I felt like I had to protect the soul of the track. And in the end, I think it was the right call. Sorry, Ayla.”
The result is a version of “Sex and Candy” that doesn’t just reinterpret the song—it reclaims it. Gone is the detached mumble of the original; in its place is something more tactile, more present, and arguably more honest. It’s the same stoned reverie—but now the dream has a pulse.
Playlist Highlights: Other Takes on “Sex and Candy”
The curated playlist for this edition of Echoes from the Past showcases a range of covers that explore the surreal, sultry, and often playful nature of “Sex and Candy.” Each version offers a different lens, revealing how the song’s strange charm adapts across genre, language, and perspective.
Scary Pockets feat. Monica Martin
This cover flips the mood entirely—trading the original’s slow, groggy feel for something much livelier. With a full rhythm section driving the groove, Scary Pockets layer in electric piano, saxophone, and smooth backing vocals. Monica Martin’s performance brings a rich, soulful quality to the track, making it feel more like a funk jam than a daydream.
Pijama Land
Pijama Land delivers one of the more unique interpretations, blending French and English lyrics and switching between male and female vocal parts. The arrangement leans into dream pop territory, giving the song a hazy, hypnotic feel that floats along on gentle synth textures and a laid-back tempo.
Jade the Moon
Jade the Moon’s version pares things down into a slow-burning, atmospheric pop piece. The production is sparse and deliberate, creating a kind of emotional stillness that contrasts with the song’s original detached tone. The result feels more introspective—less cryptic, more emotionally grounded.
Unions
Unions take a delicate approach with a down-tempo piano ballad twist. The whispery vocals feel almost like a lullaby, drawing the listener into something intimate and understated. As the track unfolds, drums and bass subtly enter after the first chorus, helping carry the momentum. Soft synth layers weave in and out, adding texture without overpowering the mood.
References
Ortega, S. (2010, May 3). Interview with John Wozniak of Marcy Playground. Songfacts. https://www.songfacts.com/blog/interviews/marcy-playground
Wikipedia contributors. (n.d.). Sex and Candy. In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved May 7, 2025, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_and_Candy