20247, the new album from Massachusetts-based duo Taxidermists, is a homespun snapshot of two longtime friends hanging out in a cold, smoky garage late at night, recording music the way they always wanted. Since meeting on Myspace as pre-teens in 2007, Salvadore McNamara and Cooper B. Handy have wholeheartedly embraced a DIY ethos—no pretension, no gimmicks, and nothing to prove to anyone but themselves. Taxidermists operate as a band by striking a balance between virtuosic, passionate creative output and, in their own words, “just being able to shoot the shit and hang out.” This is the charm and appeal of 20247: it exudes love and warm familiarity, a clear product of two best friends working as a team to create something special. “We haven’t made a record like this in 12 years and we’ve learned so much since then,” they say. “We may not put out a ton of music, but we care about the music we make.”
Both born and raised on the East Coast, Handy and McNamara started playing music together when they were just 13 and 14. They found a welcoming community of musicians near McNamara's home on Martha’s Vineyard, and then spent years squeezing all their equipment into Handy’s Toyota Corolla to play out-of-town gigs. By 2011, they were enmeshed in a DIY touring circuit spanning New England and its neighboring states, and eventually found fans in fellow musicians like Show Me the Body and Horse Jumper of Love – whom you can still spot rocking vintage Taxidermists merch. Seven records later, 20247 (their first LP since 2019’s TAX) showcases a fine-tuned songwriting swagger that was cultivated in part by their participation in other projects (Handy: LUCY, Safe Mind, and Club Casualties; McNamara: Prewn, Phenomena 256, Kahoots). After 15 years of being a band, the album finds Taxidermists exploring new ways of working together, while preserving the spark that made their collaboration so organic and exciting in the first place.
During a Massachusetts winter in 2024, Handy and McNamara bought a small space heater and created the entirety of 20247 in McNamara’s garage studio while braving an average temperature of 39° F. Many of the songs were written and recorded in a single night, and the longest one clocks in at a mere 2:50. The pair would start by writing guitar for a track based off of hummed or sung melodies in Handy’s voice memos, gradually and intrinsically piecing together the structure of a song through their own mutual understanding of each other. Recording everything to tape, they maintained their commitment to off-the-cuff analog output. 20247 feels rough around the edges and unmistakably human, shaped by Handy and McNamara’s symbiotic creative flow. Fractured, dynamic bursts of commotion collide with moments of measured restraint; it’s short and to the point with no energy wasted – a trademark Taxidermists quality. The duo’s easy chemistry and free-spirited tendencies are a kismet combination, and 20247 sees this camaraderie reach new peaks via 12 earworms that leave you both satisfied and instantly wanting more.
The lyrics collage together unrestrained sketches that recollect a time, place, or feeling with abstract charm. “We graft together a bunch of moments that become a feeling that becomes a song,” they say of their process. Perhaps this is best showcased on the frenetic lead single “Shoot,” a conceptual representation of a blurry late night in a beach town that lovingly brings in each chorus with the disjointed ring of a cowbell. Elsewhere, they explore common misconceptions about pleasure (“Sweet Guilt”); growing up in a small town and learning over time to appreciate it (“Grow Up”); the labors of love and the toll that can take on any relationship dynamic (“Service Disservice”); late artists who receive most of their accolades post-mortem (“Gone Away”), and more. Their musings are fleeting and contemplative, ultimately serving to appreciate and distill what it’s like to simply be alive.
Handy and McNamara have a sleight of hand with words, and 20247 only begins to crack their codes. Some of the album’s lyrics can feel like a maze, twisting and unraveling in repetition until they suddenly make perfect sense. On the rhythmic “Needles to Say,” a standout track bolstered by an impenetrable groove, the two seem to be conversing in their own secret language: “Needless to say / like needles to hay / and vice versa the other way.” “Does The Wind Know” is at once a winter anthem that gets its name from a humorous late night thought (‘does the wind know that you’re cold?’), and an ode to believing in yourself and what you’re doing. And for all its lyrical abstractness, 20247 also has moments of inspiring precise and poignant feelings: “Let The Music Save Them” is an earnest tribute to deceased musicians of this generation that the band describes as “a tonal anchor in the Taxidermists canon.” Handy’s voice tugs at heartstrings, a crucial third instrument that melds together the drums and guitar like a unifying thread.
20247 is a labor of love at its core, in the many shapes that love can take. “Youʼve got what you have and it's hard to find,” Handy sings on album centerpiece “Love You,” a simple song that defines the trajectory of the band and the record. After 15 years together, 20247 feels like a celebration of the music Taxidermists have always wanted to make, and on their own terms of success.
