With hair that’s almost too perfect, too highlighted, too uniform, too…. German, if you will, Eric Whitacre is the rock star of the choral composition world. He stomped his way to the top; pounding his foot down on notes spewing out of the basses, then the tenors, then the altos, then the sopranos, like some sort of musical cliff.
In actuality it was really not that hard to do. He just put on a leather jacket and some laid back jeans…. and grew out his hair.
And if I may stress again it was not hard to be the hottest well-known composer of his generation, not that hard at all.
Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream Horn. Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream Corn. Cream. Cream. Cream. Cream Corn. Cream Horn. Cream corn. Cream. Cream. Cream Corn.
I think I actually… do I? I think I… yeah? Yeah. Yeah I do. I do. I want to fuck him.
- said every girl ever the first time they saw Christoph Waltz.
Thank you Shia I have waited for this day, waited for the day when I could say: Your hair looks great. You are a man. Shalom, aliyah, jewish, psalms.
A poem by me.
If Einstein lived in the 21st century he wouldn’t have waisted his incredible genius with his head in the physics books. He would have actually contributed to society by calculating ‘hair to goodness’ ratios for the Kings of Leon, and a short legs/long hair cancellation graphs for tiny men with hair that’s 10/10.
We didn’t need you in the end, Stein. The proof is in the pudding. Hair make man.