My father once told me that if you check for hair on your palms then you're crazy. And here I am, some years later, listening to a track I love by someone who refers to himself as Hairy Hands.
Now, while I'm not writing off my dad's theory, I am doubting that crazed people deserve the bad wrap they get. Surely, Hairy Hands, our intergalactic synth voyeur, has glanced at his palms' major lines with excessive curiosity, yet he still makes such great music.
HH, I'm here for you buddy. Love the album, bro.