Next stop, underground

Converge may be young, but they're jaded

by Chris Kanaracus

Throughout the '90s, Boston-based metal/hardcore pioneers Converge have created a groundbreaking, hellish swarm of desperation, meditation, and outright fury that has enjoyed massive popularity and has acted as a primer for scores of local and national acts.

They have toured incessantly since forming in 1991 (often drawing hundreds, if not thousands of fans to shows); they've been profiled in every underground (and even several national) publication imaginable. And the group (now a foursome), who appear this Friday at the Space, have taken part in no less than 26 recordings. But their success, however great, hasn't crossed over to the mainstream.

The likely reason for that is what brought them their success in the first place: their music, which one critic termed "the soundtrack to manic depression."

"It doesn't surprise me that a lot of people hear what we do and can't deal with it, or even laugh at it," says vocalist Jacob Bannon. "It's because there is a difference between the amazingly safe, commercial music out there that is solely intended to make money and that which is actually artistic.

"Many people can't grasp that concept," he adds.

But Bannon, 22, doesn't care. "I've been immersed in the Boston hardcore scene since I was 11 years old. It's never been about money . . . it's been about playing a show until at the end [when] we're lying crumpled and bleeding on the floor."

It's a shocking image, but one that is perhaps the best representation of what Converge's music means not only to the band, but to their fans who -- almost as a rule -- join them on stage en masse, dancing and singing along to every word. "It's all about trying to put some real emotion into music." But Bannon doesn't presume to have invented that concept, which has been around, well, forever.

What Converge are in large part responsible for (and have practically perfected) is the melding of two seemingly similar heavy styles -- hardcore and metal. "The ideas behind metal have always been this big fantasy land, not rooted in anything real at all," Bannon says. "Combining it with hardcore gave it a more personal edge. But at the same time, the technical nature of metal challenged hardcore on a purely instrumental level."

Indeed, as Converge's most recent full-length release, When Forever Comes Crashing (Equal Vision), proves. No one-two, one-two sloppiness here. From the Metallica-style gallops and blast beats on tracks like "Unsaid Everything" to the almost Guns n' Roses-like riff that anchors the title song, Converge's technical excellence cannot be slighted. Bannon's lyrics cover some dreary territory but are written in a sure and thoughtful hand, with little of the impenetrable musings common to hardcore. Not that it would matter if liner notes weren't handy -- his roaring, often unintelligible delivery sounds akin to someone being slowly broiled over a bed of hot coals.

It's a combination that has proven quite successful for the band over the course of several full-length albums (Converge, Halo in a Haystack, Petitioning the Empty Sky, WFCC) , at least a dozen compilation and split 7" recordings, and more than 600 live performances. Converge have headlined numerous festivals over the years (most recently the Super Bowl of Hardcore in Europe) and solo shows, like one several years ago at St. John's Gym in Clinton. In addition, they will perform on this year's Warped Tour.

Bannon hasn't become rich, however, nor does he care. "Quite often, we've been offered bigger shows or different recording deals, and we've turned it down only because we've had a taste of that level, and we've found that sometimes you have to sell your soul."

One unfortunate example occurred during the New England Metal Festival, held in May at the Palladium. Converge, coheadlining on the opening night of the show, saw a friend of the band being pulled off the stage by bouncers who proceeded to beat him up. Converge guitarist Kurt Ballou joined the fray, essentially ending the set.

"That sort of thing would never, never happen at the all-ages shows we usually play, and the ones I grew up going to," says Bannon. "It scared me to see that happen to a friend, and not have any control over it."

Though unafraid of greater exposure, Bannon says he isn't looking for it. For now, a new album (a split with Agoraphobic Nosebleed on leading extreme music label Relapse Records) and more shows like the dozens they have played in Worcester over the years are fine with him. "We've seen it all come and go a million times. We're all a little bit jaded," he says. "We might be young, but we've been doing this for a while."

Converge appear at 8 p.m. on July 2 at the Space. Tickets are $6. Call 753-0017.