A little over a decade ago, in New Zealand, my tour mate Stefan told me about Stephen, the band in which, the joke went, initially there was no one actually named Stephen. Naming my own pop band Helen a while later might have borrowed from this idea a little.

Somewhat inexplicably it all felt like…a description of place or experience I could relate to (rare feeling), but from a maddening distance; wrong hemisphere, a few decades too late. I suppose this describes ideal pop music in some ways— being able to tap into another’s experience, but with just enough distance, a sort of labyrinthian charm, to make you curious, to be pulled in. An invitation to discover what the heart of the connection is and in doing so perhaps unwind some curiosity in your own life. These songs carry a magnetic charm, the blush of nostalgia; many sound like a crush to me, bubbling for a moment with an emotion coming from down deep, light-hearted but fierce.  Clever songs, wistful and deep, but not worked-over to the point of wilt. Anyway, I won’t try to romanticize or describe Radar of Small Dogs much more— the record speaks for itself. The brief but wobbly-perfect projections of a kiwi pop band made up of a David, an Alf and a Geoff.

-Liz Harris
Curator