The hum and the hurt: CONVERGE on the urgency behind their second album of 2026

“I could die tomorrow,” says Jacob Bannon. “We might as well get our art and music out today.”

After more than three decades leading Converge, the vocalist is acutely aware that nothing is guaranteed. That urgency takes shape on the band’s new and 12th album, Hum of Hurt, as Bannon explores the unsettling possibility that with time everything — the body, the mind, the world itself — only gets worse.

That mindset also explains their pace. Converge are dropping just four months after delivering February’s Love Is Not Enough. Their second album of 2026 was recorded in tandem with its predecessor during a particularly prolific stretch for the Massachusetts metalcore pioneers.

Hum of Hurt isn’t a sequel. It’s a parallel statement. Guitarist and producer Kurt Ballou calls it an “equal” or “lateral move” for the band. “It felt like we were making an alternate reality of the same record twice,” he says.

Where Love Is Not Enough leans bombastic, Hum of Hurt embraces restraint, letting the band’s intricate, heavy arrangements breathe. If the former thrives on unbridled technical intensity, the latter finds its weight in moments of clenched-fist, Neurosis-style atmosphere and noise. “We’re making a choice to strip things down to the bare bones and essentials to prove an emotional and artistic point,” says Bannon.

That shift is clear on the smoldering opus “Dream Debris,” centered around bassist Nate Newton’s steady hand and a rare slow-tempo beat from drummer Ben Koller. Bannon’s throat-shredding vocals and intimate lyrics are laid bare over Ballou’s minimal soundscapes before the song erupts into a pummeling finale.

Another key difference between the two albums is Hum of Hurt’s lyrical urgency, with Bannon using each song to wrestle with everything from generational trauma (“Slip the Noose”) and societal pressure (“Detonator”) to painful rumination as he approaches the half-century mark of his life, still searching for any real semblance of peace — a tension captured on the aptly titled ripper “It Only Gets Worse.”

Across the record, Bannon also grapples with the reality that he’s spent more of his life in Converge than outside of it. He was just 14 years old when he formed the band in late 1989 alongside Ballou in Massachusetts. He’s proud of the group’s 35-plus-year run, but he doesn’t sugarcoat the emotional and physical toll that’s come with it.

When Revolver connects with Bannon, Converge are days away from rehearsals for a string of support dates with fellow metalcore vets Poison the Well, and he is already preparing for the pain.

“I’m gonna be a bloody mess,” quips Bannon, only half-joking. It’s not uncommon for the vocalist to cough up heaps of blood in the throes of his visceral performances.

He’s also been battling tinnitus for years, a constant inner-ear ringing that would eventually shape the ideas behind Hum of Hurt, including its title. While researching the condition, Bannon discovered “the hum,” a mysterious low-frequency phenomenon reported around the world. That led him to question whether what he hears might be something more abstract than a straightforward medical issue, and possibly a signal of a world slipping into peril.

Despite the uncertainty, the pain, the anxiety, one thing is certain: Converge won’t sit still as long as they have something to say. As the conversation that follows with Bannon and Ballou makes clear, they’re not holding anything back.

Releasing two albums in four months is pretty unorthodox In today’s musical landscape. What was the intention Behind that, and does it feel liberating to operate at your own pace?
Kurt Ballou The idea was to make the two albums equal in terms of quality, moods and voices being represented. We’re not so concerned with outdoing ourselves. It’s not a competition.

I look at bands like Melvins and Neurosis, who have these massive catalogs — though not every record is what you would objectively call progress. I’m kind of OK if Converge becomes one of those bands, too. We don’t repeat ourselves, but we can make lateral movements as long as we’re enjoying it. This band is not our full-time job, where we need to put out a record [in order] to put food on the table. We’re doing it because we love doing it.

Jacob Bannon We’ve always been very stubborn and do what we want. That doesn’t mean we are divas or high maintenance, it’s actually quite the contrary. We see the traditional album cycles as pitfalls for many bands. We know what we are capable of and know what we can responsibly take on as a band. From the artistic perspective of why we want to drop this album so quickly — first and foremost — it’s done. There’s no sense in sitting on it.

Was there a specific moment of discovery that inspired you to thematically anchor Hum of Hurt around the mysterious global hum phenomenon?
Bannon I started digging into that when I was researching my own tinnitus and dealing with these shared frequency interruptions that people experience.

Some of the things I stumbled upon were folks who often heard a hum that they would almost misidentify as a version of tinnitus. I thought that was quite interesting and found a blog post that unpacked it more. Not to say that I was thinking my own tinnitus was that, but it could be. We’re not exactly sure.

I was looking at all of these takes of what the hum could be —everything from electromagnetic forces, electrical currents, things related to seismic waves and earthquakes, or the movement of all living life that exists on the planet creating frequency.

As I thought about it a little more, the world is such a traumatized place and has been for all of human history. So I thought, What if the hum is some sort of shared experience? Almost like how people experience apparitions, where some can see them and others don’t. What if [the hum] is something that, if you are in tune with it, you hear it? Or maybe you’re at a certain place in your own emotional plane and can experience it as a sixth sense?

Poetically, this really tied itself naturally to what I was writing about and poses the question about a shared human experience. It almost felt too perfect.

The word “apocalyptic” kept coming to mind when I listened to Hum of Hurt. In 2026, everything feels like it’s compounding, whether it’s war, division, environmental decay, capitalism or the rapidly changing digital landscape. Did these topics feel top of mind during the writing process?
Bannon We are inundated with so much information at such a rapid rate —we have never experienced that in a worldwide capacity before. Technology has changed everything drastically. I’m pretty certain that if we even reference history books in the next 20 years, we are going to see the effects of what we are experiencing as a generation. I am feeling all of the same internal and external pressures as the rest of the world, and it feels like we’re at a boiling point. It’s really difficult to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Navigating that is a huge challenge, but I use art and creativity as my way of doing that.

In the subjects of these songs, I discuss things that are personal to me in my own life, struggling as a middle-aged male who has made art and music in this band for over 35 years. I’m 49, so I’ve spent more than half of my life in this. I’ve been reflective on the things I still want to accomplish and how I want to grow — and these songs are me unpacking that subject, as well as the social ties, similar to Love Is Not Enough. However, this [album] feels more entangled with my emotional response to the world at large.

On Hum of Hurt, and especially “It Only Gets Worse,” you challenge the idea that life gets easier with age. In reality, would you say that you have even more to lose the older you get?
Bannon That’s a really good analogy. If you have the same clothes on for your entire life and continue to grow, eventually they won’t fit. That’s often what it feels like, almost like you’re bursting out of your own seams and becoming more uncomfortable with things you were once comfortable with.

When I was a kid, I looked at adults and authority figures as having things figured out. But they were all just playing parts and were just as lost as I am [now] as an individual.

As you’ve gotten older, do you feel that the work you want to do within yourself is more urgent than ever?
Bannon Absolutely… I’m running out of time. That’s the reality of the urgency of what both of these records are. We’ve lost more friends as of late, associated with age, and things feel much more immediate and necessary to speak about. I won’t be able to work on myself when I’m 80 years old and on my deathbed. I want to do it now.

As fathers and family men, I’d imagine the changes you want to make are not only for yourselves but also for the people you hold the closest. “Slip the Noose” feels like a strong example of that, especially when it comes to negative patterns you might be passing down without realizing it.
Bannon That song is me writing to my children. Oftentimes, I see behaviors and psychological tendencies that feel like complete, 100 percent reflections of where I was at that time in my young life. I want to do the best I can to steer them in directions that will lead them to healthier and more emotionally stable lives as they grow.

Over the course of Converge’s 35-plus year career, the band have often been put on a pedestal, with people laser-focused on milestones and accolades. But this record really gets at the mental and physical sacrifices behind it. Do you feel people misunderstand that side of things?
Bannon There is creative fulfillment and reward, but we are very much working, middle-class guys who are no different than the guys who work in the tow yard across the office from me. I just happen to be able to play hardcore music ina live capacity and make art. I relate to the human being, not the celebrity people have for musicians. We’re punk-rock people and have never aspired to have [fame].

People ask me, “Why do you still do it then?” We do it because we need the creative outlet, and we need this in our souls. Without it, I don’t know what I would be like as a person — but probably not a very healthy one.

Ballou This period of time has also been kind of hard because it feels like the first time we have released a record fully in the social media age. I don’t want the praise, and I also don’t want the criticism. You have to block it all out to maintain any artistic objectivity. I’ve had more comfort and more success than I ever thought I would out of pure love for this, and I’m not going to change that now.

Switching gears, there is a level of restraint on tracks like “Dream Debris” that we don’t hear as often from the band, compared to your more technical song arrangements. Was it a compelling exercise to pull back and let the songs breathe a little?
Bannon Above all, we are fans of music. If we all collectively believe in anything, we believe in the power of a song. Sometimes, simplicity is what’s necessary to communicate musically. We have chops and play in wild time signatures, but in fact, that restraint can be more powerful.

Ballou Maybe with us all being fathers and seeing that frantic energy in our kids, we’re just like, “Yo, chill!” [Laughs] When I listen back to some of our mid-era records that are super dense, sonically, I kind of glaze over after a while because I can’t follow it. I want to be able to write and record music that I want to listen to and follow a little more.

Another thing that I think is different about this record, compared to our previous ones, is that we are less afraid of being referential with the music. Early in the band, our hero-worship was pretty audible. But we eventually got to a point where we didn’t want to appear like we were referential and [we] put uniqueness above all else. I’m less fearful of that now, and when we put out a new song and a kid says, “Dude, that sounds just like Entombed,” I’m like, “Yeah, Entombed is sick!” [Laughs]

Bannon Absolutely. I love Rollins Band, and I love those moments where Henry [Rollins] just riffs and the band breaks into a live jam. For me, some of that spirit is in there [on this record], which I think is pretty rare to hear in a lot of music now, with things so snapped to a grid in our subgenre.

The two of you have had such a strong creative relationship that, from the outside, it almost feels like you share an unspoken language. What does that process look like in the moment?
Bannon In the moment, it’s comforting. But it also can be awkward. [Laughs]As much as we are a band that artistically and creatively express ourselves with a lot of color, we rarely get into the emotional weight of the songs, because we all have a reverence for that and don’t really open that book together.

If one of the guys has a riff idea — and let’s use Kurt for this example — we watch him go through something that is volatile, emotional, heavy, complex, technical and intense. However, when I hear the riffs, I’m thinking about the moment that led them to be inspired. What was pushing Kurt that day? What was pushing Kurt to come up with that riff where he needed to expel some demons from himself?

There’s an unsaid thing between all of us, but mine happens to be said since I’m the one singing. When I see Kurt onstage performing in the throes of a riff, I see him going through the same battle that I am, but his is not in words. His language is in the form of distorted guitars.

Ballou We’ve made so many recordings together that we have a pretty good idea of what each other might do with any given idea. The vocals do come as the last thing, so I have to imagine where the vocals might be when I’m writing music. I try to clearly communicate where vocals should and should not go to Jake, while still being flexible throughout the process.

Converge are undeniably pioneers of what can be considered true metalcore, and your influence still feels present in the new generation of bands. What do you make of the current state of hardcore?
Bannon When the COVID-19 lockdowns occurred, all live music stopped, and the backbone of heavy music is the live component. What’s happening now is the ship righting itself.

Audiences have come back, and things have drastically improved. Right now, we’re in a moment where there is a really wonderful explosion occurring, when it comes to heavy music in all forms — everything [from] Spiritbox and Turnstile doing well [to] the legacy artists being celebrated the way they should be. In the last six months, people have rediscovered Crowbar, who are one of my favorite bands of all time. It’s fantastic, and we’re coming out of the darkness all together right now.

Ballou You can feel excitement from a recording, but [nothing compares] to the visual excitement of being in a room packed full of like-minded people, with the oppressive volume, moshing, stage diving, and all the things that come from this space. It’s still going strong and gives me hope for heavy music more than anything else. We talk a lot about the lack of shared experiences between people, but having this community experience is really important.

Even if I’m not able to go to a lot of shows, seeing that the hardcore scene is still super strong is great, because you can’t fake it. There’s no pomp and circumstance or stagecraft at all. It’s just the band and the people in the room. That’s where we came from and what I always try to bring the feeling of into my recordings.

With Love Is Not Enough and now Hum of Hurt, it appears the band is embarking on a prolific new chapter. Where do you see things heading next?

Bannon We always have something cooking. Bloodmoon [Converge’s project with Chelsea Wolfe and Cave In’s Stephen Brodsky] is very much a living, breathing thing. We would love to continue pushing forward with that. I even have Converge ideas now that I am going to present to the guys on this [upcoming] tour.

Ballou It’s just awesome to see people have this renewed interest in the band. We’re stoked about the [Saddest Day] festival we’re curating this year and being able to have a mix of legacy-type projects, while also making new music and existing in many different forms.