STEVEN LEMON - "…a strange pale blue"
- Wolf Georgia - MusicFarmer5
- May 2
- 3 min read
MUSIC FARMER 5 - Review by Wolf Georgia
Harmony in the Absurd: The Subtle Genius of Steven Lemon

Some albums aim for polish. Others go for perfection. But STEVEN LEMON’s …a strange pale blue dares to do something better—it invites you into its own wonderfully peculiar universe, where nostalgia and absurdity mingle like best friends on a late-night drive.
With a sound that echoes the wit of Weird Al and the tuneful charm of Barenaked Ladies, STEVEN LEMON proves he’s not just making music for laughs—he’s making music for living. His South Jersey roots peek through in moments of sincerity, but it’s his love for quirky sonic detours and playful lyrics that turn this project into a joyride across the radio dials of your memory.
“The Radio and Me” opens the album with an ode to the comfort and chaos of growing up with FM frequencies as your co-pilot. Synths sparkle like old arcade games, while LEMON’s vocal delivery walks the tightrope between heartfelt and hilarious. It’s the kind of track that raises a toast to imperfection—“gonna let it go and make a mistake”—and dares you to do the same.
That charm carries into “Lifeline”, a pocket-sized anthem with a bassline so warm and steady it could double as a life preserver. With harmonies that bloom into a Beach Boys-style flourish, it becomes one of the album’s most embracing moments. The storms may blow, but you get the feeling STEVEN LEMON would offer you a floatie shaped like a whoopee cushion just to lighten the mood.
Then comes “Velma Daisy Dinkley”—a song so specific and silly it somehow becomes universal. Backed by piano and soft drums, LEMON crafts a crush song for the Scooby-Doo generation, equal parts ridiculous and endearing. Hearing him pine after the bespectacled brainiac in an orange turtleneck feels like flipping through your own middle school diary and finding a love letter you never sent—sweet, strange, and undeniably human.
Throughout the record, LEMON plays with genre like a kid in a candy store. The pop-punk flavor of “We Better Go”, the psych-pop swirl of “Candyland”, and the saloon-door swing of “Peas and Carrots” each flex a different musical muscle, yet they all feel distinctly his. Even the humor, which is ever-present, never undercuts the craft. It’s a grin with depth. A wink with a melody.
