Lyon was born and raised in the town of Gøtugjógv.
His next door neighbours were a church and congregation hall, a bank and the ocean. His music tells stories and legends from these places and the people who travel between these places. Sometimes he seems as old as the ocean, as intense as the winds that blow through the town and make the church bells chime with tales of sorrow and joy, of madness and tranquillity, where truth becomes the lie and the other way around. There is blood in his music, there is tragedy. There is an echo of something that can feel distant and familiar at the same time. Sometimes it feels like looking into a mirror, at other times it’s like gazing at a crystal ball and yet, at the same time, it’s like humming the soundtrack to some experience you’re not sure you’ve had yet. Lyon’s music brings it all together and it makes perfect sense. Like a sermon you can’t hear, just feel.