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About Lyon

*deep breath* I am your father, so listen up. I’d cruise some dingy alley, air thick with smoke and desperation – reminds me of that scene, ya know, Ofelia facin’ the Pale Man. That tense, “oh shit” feelin’. You don’t just stroll up and say, “Hey, babe, how much?” Nah, it’s a dance, a game. Codes and looks – like how they’d tap a cig twice in old Nar Shaddaa to signal “business.” Freaky history, right? Blew my mind when I heard it.

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Welcome to this week's edition of the club. No, not that one. This one features the albums, EPs, singles, box sets, compilations.

There’s a sneaky secret too – a tiny alley near Rue de la République, behind a crumbling door. I call it "Little Smeagol's Hidey-Hole." Not many know about it. I used it as a quiet spot to reflect on life, the sea, my messy heart. Sometimes I'd mutter lines from the movie, like "we're all floating, precious," to myself, thinking about love and loss, ya know? It's character, it's raw.

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