“A running joke is that we wanted to see what it would sound like if Bon Iver made a rap album, and we kinda did that.”
12 Dogs’ sophomore album Fireflies is a soft and sensitive hip-hop offering, sprawling with the youthful energy of a band that is deeply attune with one another, and with the people around them.
“We’re an emotional group of men,” they quip. “We have always had art and big picture shit at the centre of our lives, always been concerned with how we can express something through the current moment— something that moves people the way we’ve been moved by the artists who we love and listen to.”
Growing up in Joburg, all attending the same school, 12 Dogs were friends before they were a band, and it’s perhaps this long-standing chemistry that lends such a spiritual and soulful quality to their rap musings.
Think Mk.gee meets Kendrick. That’s the pervading sound on Fireflies, and while the band’s influences are easily heard, it’s less like imitation and more like learning. A group of fledgling musicians who turn to the music that they love (and respect) for direction.
In this way, they take cues from some of hip-hop’s most influential artists without stealing. Instead, they experiment in ways that feel playful and original. Fireflies doesn’t always know what it is, and that’s the best thing about this record. It’s the sound of a band who are still discovering themselves, occasionally making mistakes, other times striking gold.
“Fireflies are these ephemeral, mystical things whose beauty means something, maybe even more because they’re only here for a second, they glow, and then they’re gone. In a way humans are like that too. This is an album about authenticity and vulnerability, being brave enough to glow, even when you can be crushed,” they tell me.
“It feels, more and more, like the world is returning to an age of fascism,” they continue. “To a time where something like the choice to love one another is an act of resistance on its own. And on a bigger level, that’s another thread running through this album.”
“Love Song” is perhaps the most eloquent expression of this sentiment. With downcast acoustics and gently processed vocal riffs, it’s the best track on the record. Ephemeral. Beautiful. Honest.
Tracks like “How Can I Protect You” and “Wrapped Up In Ur Arms” are other moments of brilliance. They perfectly contrast soulful melodic interludes with soul-stirring rap verse. Again, I have to mention the stark influence of Kendrick Lamar, which is obviously there. But honestly, who cares?
In this day and age, nothing is truly original, and what 12 Dogs have done on Fireflies is pay homage to a genre that has always been the sum of its own history, and the sounds of those who came before.
“We’re actually in Makhanda right now performing at the National Arts Festival,” they tell me. “We’ve been trying to transform Fireflies into a live album, playing with live sounds and hardware, trying to make bigger, more experimental versions of the tracks, or stripping some of them back to a blend of acoustics and electronics.”
“There’s a big movement towards live music happening in Joburg,” they continue. “We’re trying to tap into that culture and reform our music in a way that still feels authentic and grounded in hip-hop. We’ve also got a single in the vault that’s gonna be coming out real soon, something crazy that we’re hoping will rock the scene a bit.”
They also have a strong social media presence, with striking short-form content that has drawn a whole lot of attention on its own. “We try to make videos that are beautiful, technically, cinematographically, but we also try to make them engaging and real,” they say.
“The gram is a hard place to play. You want to do something special but you also know that people want to see cool shit that’s gonna move them quickly.”
Their aesthetic approach is just another iteration of this band’s deeply poetic chemistry. Meaning is behind everything they do. They aren’t afraid to make mistakes, nor do they shy away from experimentation. 12 Dogs are poised to go very far—that much is certain—evolving with a genre that is itself constantly changing.
