It’s a pretty fixating mask to hide behind. A lot of artists play a similar game, placing animal artefacts or a glued-together collection of feathers in front of their face, in an act of putting the music at the forefront and the personality as a lesser priority. But Aaron Jerome’s mask – it’s fascinating. Wherever his career speeds off to after this, expect the steel-like structure of the above image to become somewhat synonymous with SBTRKT’s success.

The mask, in a similar way to Jerome’s palette of sounds, acts as a side-stepper; distracting the listener from a stark fact that this is pop music, albeit executed in the most contemporary and inventive way possible. Elements of dub and 2-step gleam over an otherwise routine collection of songs, more in line with an RnB record than a night at Plastic People. You could say the same for Jamie Woon and James Blake – breakthrough artists experimenting with pop as a form, being developed as these interesting, cultured musicians who in reality, only have a true penchant for pop music. But SBTRKT indulges in a similar act with considerably greater ease.

Some of these tracks would surge for the top 10 were Katy B placed in front of the mic. The relatively unknown Sampha dominates proceedings instead, featuring on over a third of the album. Lyrics are confessional in style – a contrast to the skittering wall of electronics acting as a backdrop – from ‘Hold On’’s sense of isolation (“You’re giving me the coldest stare / Like you don’t even know I’m here”) to ‘Never Never’’s determination to “get past the shame / Get through the bruise”. Sampha’s voice is tender, taking us back to heartful soul music and right up to James Blake’s manipulated, heartbroken croon.

Little Dragon steals the show through album highlight ‘Wildfire’, a ceaseless, dub-heavy anthem – in your face but momentous. Roses Gabor also acts as a guest vocalist on the shimmering ‘Pharoahs’, putting a gloss on top of a brilliant summertime melody, in line with Groove Armada or Royksopp, more so than any current, fellow London dub artist. Many of the well-manoeuvred pop songs are up against an interlude, instrumental piece, such as the ‘CMYK’-like ‘Ready Set Loop’, which helps to put a dividing line between ‘Pharoahs’ and ‘Never Never’. These ambitious pieces evoke Jerome’s London heritage, his London shows at Fabric and his gradual rise from remixing mainstream artists (Basement Jaxx, Mark Ronson) to bringing out a record of his own, whilst also giving the album some much-needed coherence and clarity. This is a far more assured debut than other 2011 statements of intent: Woon’s flawed Mirrorwriting or Blake’s opinion-dividing full-length.

There’s indeed a fine line between tasteful dub and shameless pop in this record, yet Jerome walks the tightrope with relatively few slip-ups. Many self-proclaimed “experts” of 2-step, electronica or dubstep might lambast SBTRKT’s efforts but in reality, he’s crafted an album suited for both grimy basement clubs and giant festival tents. That takes some doing.