In my humble estimation, a real Monkeypriest would keep it simple. No white collared, traditional preacher bullshit. Sermons are for the weak, pathetic humans. Monkeypriest gets to the fucking point. Real quick. Monkeypriest lashes out and pounds his fists in fierce uninson, demanding your undivided attention and subservience. Monkeypriest illustrates the ills of man by flinging his own shit all over the blood stained walls. Human-blood stained walls.
Much like the aforementioned, sacreligious beast, the real Monkeypriest knows exactly where lies the kill. Spaced out, punk as fuck, simplistic, tribal drums are the backbone on this primitive beast. And do they ever sound huge!
The bass and guitar chug and churn with a bestial fuzz. Riffs draw equally from Sabbath and Slayer. The solo that pops up on Feast of Fools (Cerebral Fix Cover) catches you off guard, and knocks you flat. Monkeypriest know their way around the riff. Monkeypriest dwells in the sludge. The riffs permeate with filth.
The vocals are, for lack of a better term, apeshit. Their span from a Lemmy-esque growl to a black metal howl, and the dooomiest wail to chanting incantations of pure melevolence.
The members prefer to remain anonymous. Instead, they refer to themselves only as Monkeypriest 1,2 and 4. Its too bad, really. Monkeypriest has a sound that resonates with hardened sludgemongers and doomhounds alike. Monkeypriest manage to sound massive and doomy without sounding pretentious or boring, and likely have a ready-made fan base. They simply need more exposure. Someone needs to whip this monkey out in public and show just how sick it is. Something like that.
You can pick up a copy of the excellent new Monkeypriest album, The Psalm here. Go do it. Now. Support the Monkeypriest, for he will soon be your overlord.
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