The origins of We Can Create form a tale seemingly destined to become musical folklore: Locked away in his Northamptonshire bedroom, equipped with an old 16 track recorder and an ensemble of musical instruments, Maps (aka James Chapman) composes a collection of rich and densely layered soundscapes that are remarkable not just because of their obvious complexity, but also because not a single computer is used during the recording process. That an album of what is ostensibly electronica could emerge from this unlikely scenario is nothing short of incredible, and it is unsurprising that the esoteric results of these bedroom musings rapidly catch the attention of some important people. With spools of quality material at his disposal, Chapman subsequently recruits the production talents of industry stalwarts Valgeir Sigurdsson (Bjork) and Ken Thomas (Sigur Ros), and the result of this promising collaboration is an album shortlisted for this year’s prestigious Mercury Music Prize. From bedroom to Britain’s highest level of musical recognition: it truly is the stuff of dreams. 

As such, it’s easy to get caught up in the phenomenal emergence of Maps and his seemingly charmed debut, We Can Create. However, as a music critic, it is necessary to overcome such temptations and recognize that essentially, familiarity with the unusually romantic story of the album’s creation does tend to distract from an objective appraisal of the music’s quality. In acknowledging this potential hurdle and regaining some critical perspective, one quickly realizes that although We Can Create is by no means a poor debut, it’s not without its share of considerable shortcomings.  

But let’s start with the positives, of which there are many. From the outset, it is obvious that Maps has considerable musical talent. For fans of the genre, We Can Create delivers an intriguingly deep, and somewhat experimental, dose of hook-laden synth-pop. On a base level of appreciation, it is essentially what you’d hope a decent release of this type would sound like, with sweeping soundscapes and fuzzy walls of driving sound fusing to create a distinctively gritty, yet wholly appealing, musical style. Of course, what further distinguishes this release is its entirely analogical origins, and as the album plays out, the ease with which the listener can appreciate the great skill of Chapman and his apparent affection for intricately crafted compositions, admittedly never wanes.

On songs like ‘It Will Find You’ and ‘Back + Forth’, the scope and scale of the soundscapes illustrates how Chapman constructs songs that build slowly, only to finally bloom in a cathartic release of rewarding energy, the power of which typically captivates. Yet despite Maps’ obvious ability to handle the intricacies of dense musical landscapes and soaring arrangements, it is actually when he strips things back that the album truly shines. The tinkling of melancholic optimism on ‘Glory Verse’ provides We Can Create with a deserved moment of sparse minimalism, and this serves as a refreshing counterbalance to some of the album’s more intense offerings. What’s more, ‘Glory Verse’ achieves a synthesized emotional depth that is not always apparent on We Can Create, and in doing so, successfully illustrates that Maps is capable of producing music that is not only textually rich, but also able to transcend the characteristic sterility often associated with electronica.

However, for all that is done right on We Can Create, it is not without its glaring faults. Most notably, whereas the music on the album is generally interesting and praiseworthy, there can be little doubt that Chapman’s vocal contributions ultimately let the production down, undermining the overall listening experience. Essentially, the problem is this: Chapman has developed a vocal style that resembles a multi-tracked, almost dream-like vocal whisper. Sure, this vocal delivery, although cold, generally provides the album with a somewhat distinctive sound. But problematically, on most tracks, the lushness of the musical offerings clearly outclasses the artist’s apparent vocal aptitude. Far too often, the voice is at best a distraction, and on an album that otherwise seems as though it was designed to transport you to another place, such diversions considerably detract from the overall listening experience.

Of course, drawing so much attention to the vocals wouldn’t necessarily be such a bad thing, if what Chapman was singing about was actually worth paying attention to. However, the lyrics often seem like an afterthought, and when the only lines in a song are “Don’t hear the sun/Feel like someone/And somehow/Somehow/Come on” (‘Don’t Fear’) or “When you leave/I ain’t coming/What you have/Comes to nothing” (‘When You Leave’), it’s easy to question the meaningfulness of Chapman’s lyrical contributions. Thus, whilst We Can Create offers a swag of songs that are consistently interesting from a technical perspective, if you’re looking for any sort of deep lyrical inspiration, then you’d best look elsewhere.

Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but acknowledge that it is ultimately not what We Can Create sounds like, but what it represents that most makes it an album worthy of attention. Undoubtedly an impressively polished technical achievement, considering the decidedly humble conditions under which it was recorded, it’s an intriguing debut. Nevertheless, it will be interesting to see how the public respond to this album and how enduring the critical adulation is, once the novelty of the album’s origins fades a little. One just can’t shake the feeling that in the long term, we’ll find Chapman more at home producing records for other artists, and leaving his singing where it is perhaps best kept - in his bedroom.