At the risk of sounding like someone who judges a book by its cover, I’ll admit that I cringed upon initially reading the title of both this band and their latest album. The band name “Editors” brought to mind a bunch of stuffy people stiffly playing instruments and halfheartedly whining about something, and the album name “The Weight of Your Love” makes it sound like what they were halfheartedly whining about was a failing relationship. But I was wrong–their whining is actually quite soulful. You can hear the pain in lead singer Tom Smith’s voice as he whines that he is “a lump of meat/with a heartbeat.” Despite the soulfulness, it should be said that I listened to the first five songs of The Weight of Your Love three times over due to an iTunes glitch and didn’t even notice until the third time around, when I thought, “Wait a minute, that pathetic line about the lump of meat with the heartbeat sounds vaguely familiar.”
It would appear that the members of Editors have been feeling the “weight” of something ever since they formed in 2002, or at least since 2007, when they released a song called “The Weight of the World.” Also contributing to the apparent overarching theme of relationship-related sadness are the track names “You Don’t Know Love,” “An Eye For An Eye,” and “Alone,” and the lyric “In that moment you realize that/Something you thought would always be there/Will die like everything else.” Man, talk about depressing. The titles of their 2005 song “Heads in Bags” and their 2009 song “Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool” sound out of place with the rest of their songs, until you listen to the lyrics and realize that the lyrics of both of the aforementioned tunes appear to be about the weight of someone’s love, again (“We put our heads in bags for you/We go out of our way to help”). While I do have to give this band credit for the numerous creative ways they find throughout their songs to talk about a failing relationship (“Your bowling ball eyes have nothing to say/They knock me over again anyway”), the topic does begin to wear thin after a while.
If I’m in the mood to dwell on heartbreak and fleeting love, I think I’d rather read a fifteen-year-old girl’s diary or a Sarah Dessen novel than listen to Editors. And I would never rather read a Sarah Dessen novel.