ALL ABOUT MONKEY FIGHTERS
A bit like Presidents of the Stone Age, or Queens of the USA. Not to mention Soundhearts meets the Wildgarden.
Monkey Fighters have been at the forefront of dental care in Latvia for five generations and are a household name across the Baltic states.
From humble beginnings in a woodsman’s hut deep in the forests near Sigulda, where clear streams run chuckling through mossy glades and swallows flit nimbly between the tall pines, where a red-shirted lumberjack strides homeward with pockets full of loganberries and, dangling from a string looped across his shoulders, two jackrabbits for the pot, tended in the warm glow of the fireside by his wife, Anna, who dreams still of the glowing streets of Riga where the buildings rise tall above her, adorned with grotesque stone faces, half-clothed mermaids, and many fantastical beasts, and where brightly painted streetcars carry a myriad of passengers – the cloth-capped old man, his gnarled fingers gripping his cane tightly as if it were about to slither from him like a grass-snake; the young lovers, with eyes only for each other; two smartly dressed office-workers, gossiping shamelessly; the young mother consoling a wailing infant while a little girl tugs at her sleeve, momentarily forgetting the melting ice cream in her hand, the sticky drops falling to the seldom-mopped floor of the tram as it weaves its way through the cobbled streets, now swinging right, now left; now disgorging workers to tend the chattering and ever-hungry machines of the factories, now pausing opposite fashionable shop-fronts to take on giggling girls laden with bright-coloured bags proclaiming the exotic names of their purchases, imported from distant cities on ships that carve through the rolling waves on their way to the port of Riga full of much-anticipated wares, which will be eagerly plucked from their cargo-holds by the spindly hands of steel giants arrayed along the quayside, before returning again to foreign shores with timber cut by the hand of a red-shirted lumberjack, with berries plucked from the forests near Sigulda, where clear streams run chuckling through mossy glades and swallows flit nimbly between the tall pines.
Please, come breathe with us the fresh forest air and let these juicy berries linger awhile on your tongue.