REVIEW: TURQUOISEDEATH - Guardian

Literal child almost pisses himself, makes great album instead

65:32 // July 11, 2025 // Self-released

So there's this Londoner that was born in 2007 and is incongruously the proud owner of a Newgrounds account and goes about calling his drum and bass and all-inclusive electronic fuckswarm alter ego TURQUOISEDEATH because "turquoise and nice bluey [sic and presumably not a generational reference] shades of green are my FAVOURITE colours", all of which makes it a little difficult for a shitpicking music goblin like myself to convince you that Guardian isn't just the vanity product of a skeletal adolescent festooned in an Oodie — but it isn't! It's a well-tempered piece of dancebait with a big ol' heart that wants you to get your neon morphsuit dry-cleaned coz it's fresher memerave time RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

HOLD THE FUCK ON though, because "Univa Transporter" opens Guardian with some vintage ambient bullshit, its synth pads striking with all the vigour of a wet towel on a changing room floor, while perfunctory splashes of water lap at your ears in an alternate universe where Taylor Swift married her high school sweetheart and Herbie Hancock plays nothing but butter notes. When the stakes are high—and trust me, they eventually will be—this is an unusual locale in which to set them.

"Canyon Of Secrets" subverts this unnecessary introduction by being completely unskippable. It mucks every drum and bass sound you've ever loved into a nimble marathon where the drum breaks barely even come close to looping, the sub bass is actually moving around in a fashion reminiscent of a bassline (Sewerslvt is yet to emerge from that manhole), and the composition flows like grease through a goose. It's a sidequest-addled journey laden with clever call-and-response that ends with some properly primal dancefloor catharsis, farty synths being slapped around by hectic drum breaks and washed over with samples and pads before being rounded out by a delicate outro. The moment-to-moment intrigue reeks of a glorious deficit of attention, yet is reigned in by a disarmingly clever editorial nous. One might not expect such restraint from a kid fresh off his first beer, but one should temper those goddamn expectations because this is Guardian's greatest strength.

TURQUOISEDEATH flexes this strength further across a laudable three track run, smoothly manipulating footwork, house, trance, and various other genres of dance music that aim to erase the distance between a bedroom composer and a sweaty crowd. Atmospheric proponents of these genres often thrive on the idea of an eternal journey, providing liminal and amorphous soundscapes for people to dissolve into — but TURQUOISEDEATH is a mere 18 years of age and his strength is that he always fucking ARRIVES somewhere. He's unafraid to land his compositions in honest-to-God pop chord progressions ("The Looking Glass" even pivots its chords as the song progresses!) without ever losing sight of the straight-line atmosphere necessary to get such compositions off the ground in the first instance.

And then on Side B our zit-ridden hero slaps himself with a duelling glove, imposing upon himself a constraint that the second side of the vinyl can only consist of one track. Oh fuck! I hope our boi has an adequate stash of prescribed amphetamines for the occasion, because all of Side A's good will (which is a lot!) is officially on the line here… Oh. Oh no. The water samples are back. We're starting over?!

Where the preceding tracks are adorable instances of dogs having the time of their fucking lives chasing their tails until they accidentally see God, The constraints of "Close Your Eyes" necessitate that its very own proverbial dog heeds the imperative delivered by the track title and sits down for a snooze or two. There are, of course, bookends, distractions, progressions, and even a surprise injection of drone-adjacent guitars which are reprised with a little more life and movement to underscore a final crescendo, but the urgency has long since subsided, and the unkempt joy and intrigue along with it. Don't woof!

This is a fairly mild misfire in the context of Guardian's successes. One might ask what is really lost here; the illusion is not dispelled so much as it's deferred toward distraction. Picture the way that your reverence for somebody cutting ungodly shapes on the dancefloor in a neon morphsuit is altered when you witness them approaching the urinal, and both you and they realise that a whole new skillset will have to be accessed in order for their night to progress. Succeed or fail, respect for the hustle can only increase. So it is with the turquoise wunderkind; his little accident is scarcely embarrassing at all, rather impressive actually, and there’s no doubt that he'll comfortably insert himself back amongst the heaving throng in no time, hopefully dry, and definitely still the life of the party.

7.5/10

Recommended if you like/if you like this I’d recommend:

Early Iglooghost album/EP[s]

Gyrofield - A Faint Glow Of Bravery

Tim Reaper & Kloke - In Full Effect

Motherfucking Amon Tobin - Bricolage maybe but I’m probably just saying albums I like now

Might update later if I’m feeling cute. Listen to Shpongle, they’re both great and awful. Don’t do drugs.