Swedish outfit Ye Banished Privateers are nothing if remarkably dedicated to their gimmick: taking listeners back “300 years . . . for an imaginary journey through the harsh life at sea during the early 18th century.” With a “crew” of roughly two dozen musicians (all of whom dress and speak like pirates), their past three LPs were filled with wildly faithful, amusing, dense, and invigorating sea shanties. Thankfully, they once again fulfill that quest with Hostis Humani Generis, a meticulously composed yet ceaselessly fun sequence that exudes tremendously skillful songwriting, production, and showmanship beneath its tongue-in-cheek aesthetic. From start to finish, it’s a strikingly full-bodied journey from intimidatingly skillful artists who clearly don’t take themselves too seriously.
It’d be extraneous to rattle off every member of the band; suffice it to say, though, that the group includes five vocalists (male and female), numerous string players, and many other folk instrumentalists (fiddle, mandolins, miniature piano, banjo, various percussion, hurdy-gurdy, etc.) As such, their attention to detail—in terms of music, singing, and even sound effects—is second to none, likely outdoing stylistically similar acts like Trollfest, The Decemberists, and steampunk masters Gandalf’s Fist. As for its concept(s), Hostis Humani Generis (meaning “the enemy of mankind,” which is obviously how pirates were viewed) finds the jubilant and unruly sailors wrestling with authority, sovereignty, war, and death. Thus, the record allows for plenty of sobering moments in-between its overtly festive vibe.
Speaking of that lavishly rowdy edge, Ye Banished Privateers waste no time starting their celebration via opener “No Prey, No Pay.” Backed by a jolly and malleable arrangement, gruff lead narration is matched by plenty of backing shouts, explosions, bells, and other high seas complements. It truly feels like you’re docked with a team of disorderly partiers, and luckily, that atmosphere permeates many of the following tunes. For instance, “Hush Now, My Child,” “Swords to Plowshares,” and “Blame the Brits” are faster and more operatic, with bits of speaking and/or sound effects establishing more realism. There’s also the relatively multifaceted and epic “Elephant’s Dance” that adds greater scope to the storytelling.
Scattered around those livelier odes are more emotional and thoughtful ballads. “Capstan Shanty” makes great use of multiple vocalists to embody a communal lamentation, whereas “Flintlock” is violent yet eloquent in its woeful introspection (“Is it time to pull the trigger, such a deed is done with ease / Will the act of playing God give my dark soul peace?”). The subsequent “Parting Song” is naturally bittersweet and slow, with warm arpeggios and ardent duets guiding sounds of destruction and turmoil. As the LP wraps up, the one-two punch of “Death of Bellows” and “Why the Big Whales Sing” are fittingly tragic, graceful, and stark, with bookended sounds of rain adding somber finality.
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Hostis Humani Generis is masterful expedition whose fusion of jokey cheer and earnest craftsmanship becomes stronger with each listen. The band’s flawless and hefty commitment to authenticity fills every track—which is commendable enough—but it’s their ability to interweave vigorous entertainment value and tastefully mature contemplation that really impresses. Put another way, there’s a lot of fun to be had here, but also a lot of compelling and respectable heartache and drama. Clearly, Ye Banished Privateers are aiming for much more than a one-trick presentation, and they deserve applause for personifying the full range of their ploy.
SCORE: 8/10
