mythology but for three years, from ’66 through ’68, this was the site of The Lemon Drops’ HQ: a combination practice space/recording studio/pot- smokers den, it also served as the residence of the Weiss family. Encouraged and supported by their uniquely understanding parents, Ed and Jackie Weiss, Gary and Eddie would constitute the nucleus of the band from its beginning until its end. Mr. Weiss acted as manager in the early days of the group and even suggested the name The Lemon Drops. (Eddie: “We all kind of chuckled, because it was LSD to us.”) Throughout ’66 the fledgling band honed its


sound in the Weiss’ living room. The first line-up featured 14-year-old lead singer Danny Smola, 15-year-old Bobby Lunak (12-string electric), 17- year-old Jeff Brandt (bass), and 18-year-old guitarist, George Sorenson – a veritable geriatric case by comparison, on guitar. Just how painfully young these boys were is perfectly encapsulated in Danny Smola’s description of his initial audition as The Lemon Drops’ lead singer: “We [Smola, Lunak and Brandt] were screwing around, and one of the guys knocked me off my chair, and I let out a high-pitched scream, and he goes, ‘Could you sing that high?’ I go, ‘I guess so.’” Meanwhile, older brother Reggie Weiss, 21,


was fast establishing himself in the music industry as co-founder of both a record studio and record label, both of which bore the name Rembrandt. “Rembrandt Records was Reggie’s concept,” says Eddie of his proto-hippie older brother. “He always wanted to create a masterpiece.” After The Lemon Drops auditioned for the Rembrandt bosses in early ’67, a deal was struck to record the band. ‘I Live In The Springtime,’ recorded 1st May, shortly after the sudden departure of guitarist Sorenson, is a should-have- been-sure-fire smash. Written and produced by Reggie, the performance is dreamy and fresh, yet still manages to retain its edge courtesy of one Ricky Erickson (recently poached from fellow Rembrandt artists The Nuchez, whose ‘Open Up Your Mind’, a spooky garage classic, also featured Erickson’s torrid fuzz guitar). The song was certainly deserving of national airplay, but lack of funding for the pressing of additional copies, coupled with Rembrandt’s rejection of a dubious distribution offer, meant the song sank without a trace, and would not even be played on Chicago radio stations. To this day there is a difference of opinion as


to the exact reasons why Danny Smola was let go in favour of Dick Sidman as lead singer. The Weisses contend that Smola began to blow off rehearsals, preferring the company of his girlfriend to the responsibilities and rigours of a serious band. Smola, however, sees it differently. “They [the Weisses] were bringing this guy over and I could see him coming into the picture. This


I guess I hold a grudge because I gave my heart to that band


guy with a straw hat and looked like he was screwed-up all the time, talked real slow, and that was Dick Sidman. When he came in I wasn’t invited anymore. I was stunned,” reveals Danny. “Bobby and Jeff didn’t want me to leave but they didn’t have much of a say-so. I guess I hold a grudge because I gave my heart to that band.” Michael Greisman has his own theory as to why Sidman was chosen. “Dick Sidman was doing drugs and Danny wasn’t.” While no new releases were ever issued, The


Lemon Drops continued to write and record new material, doubly bolstered by Reggie’s gifted pen and increasingly complex, expensive production efforts on songs like ‘Sometime Ago’ and ‘The Theatre Of Your Eyes.’ Weiss’ psychedelic palette now included then-cutting edge touches like tablas, gong, organ, false endings, spoken- word non sequiturs, copious phasing and discernible Eastern ambience, yet still managed to point toward the future: ‘Flower Pure’ featured Eddie’s soaring, mid-song guitar passage that presaged, by some 10 years, Stuart Adamson from The Skids and later Big Country. Lacking funding for further projects, yet


desperate to have their work heard by anyone with clout, the band convened in January ’68 for a two-night recording session at The Lemon Drops’ HQ, ultimately producing what became known as The Living Room Tape. Featuring only two electric guitars, Sidman’s suave, Donovan- esque croon and the band’s impressive harmonies, the songs were strong enough to draw serious interest from Earl Perrin at Buena Vista Productions. “He was really into the group, he loved the group,” recalls drummer Gary Weiss. “He told us within a week we were going to have $100-200,000 in promotion. We were going have the guys come in and do make-up; we were going to do all these promotional pictures. This was all set up.” But on 30th September ’68, Earl Perrin died


914 West Oak Leaf Avenue, McHenry, Illinois


in his sleep. A turn of events, which effectively scuppered whatever recording deal had previously lain ahead.


Wounded, but not mortally so, the band


limped along into ’69. Eddie Weiss, still a sophomore at McHenry High School was summoned out of class one day to take a long- distance phone call. It was Dick Sidman, visiting California with news that a gentleman named Dan Herron, from Alden Productions, had shown interest in The Lemon Drops. After auditioning for Herron in Chicago, the band were presented with an offer that seemed almost too good to be true: Alden would arrange to transport The Lemon Drops, along with another Chicago-area band, Faith, to his mansion in Redwood, California, whereupon both bands would be essentially paid to rehearse. Surrounded by Herron’s lavish possessions,


which included King Farouk’s Rolls Royce and a swimming pool perpetually filled with semi-clad young women, The Lemon Drops indulged in the 24-hour-party atmosphere. Reggie Weiss wrote: “Musicians were coming and going day and night. Rock stars like Gram Parsons and The Flying Burrito Brothers would move into the mansion for days at a time.” Having two bands share the same accommodations, the same hedonistic atmosphere and ominously, the same drug – in this case heroin – proved to be the coups-de-grace for The Lemon Drops. During a party punctuated with strawberry acid, both The Lemon Drops and Faith splintered into factions: The Weiss brothers eschewed the heroin clique; Dick Sidman did not. While that pretty much concludes the story of


The Lemon Drops, Gary Weiss provides a touching post-script of his last conversation with (unbeknownst to Gary, a cancer-stricken, terminally ill) Dick Sidman in the mid-90s. “He told me that he loved all of us and that he wanted to get together and possibly record some new songs. He apologised to me about leaving The Lemon Drops and said it was one of the biggest mistakes he ever made. Around six months later we received news of his death.” Special thanks to Michael Greisman, Eddie Weiss, Gary Weiss and Danny Smola


19


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