Single Of The Week: Plan B – Stay Too Long

I first came across Plan B as part of that whole grime explosion from a few years ago, when Lethal Bizzle was seeing “Pow!” banned from clubs because it caused violence where before there was only calm, when Dizzee was about as far from pop as it was possible to be, and when Plan B was getting busy deeply upsetting everybody with some of the most viscerally raw lyrics ever delivered by anyone, anywhere. 2006′s Who Needs Actions When You Got Words LP was full of some properly grim tales, and it was titanically, horrifyingly, and thrillingly dark – the end of “Rakin’ The Dead” will probably remain one of the finest, funniest and most fucked-up moments in British hip-hop history. It was an eye-opener and no mistake.

What made the younger Plan B (real name Ben Drew) stand out head and shoulders above the rest of the scene though, was his clear delight in and skill with instruments as well as the microphone and its accompanying electronics – there were proper and muscular songs in there, as well as razor-sharp verbals and the beats from a knife-fight. This was a British Eminem who could also comfortably play a solo acoustic session. That was the Noughties though, and (skipping past his appearance in Harry Brown alongside Michael Caine) we open the new decade with “Stay Too Long” – and if you’ve ever wondered what Justin Timberlake would sound like if he a) was a fucking hardnut from Forest Gate and b) possessed by Satan, then your sleepless nights are over.

With a fizzing jazz organ, gospel backing singers, tubthumping drums and Plan B’s surprisingly soulful and high-pitched vocal, it opens like a glorious wedding finale, a pure slice of Illinois soul – “Cuz I always stay too long / Long enough for something to go wrong“, he almost croons, and twenty seconds in, it’s still innocent, joyful, slicker than the ice on the roads and – you’re thinking – probably about some kind of relationship guff. But then reality bursts into the room, Plan B’s scarred and throaty delivery of old kicks in, and from then on it’s another riot of drinking, violence, sex and assorted other slices of inner-city mayhem, all set to a soundtrack Berry Gordy would slap a seal of approval on. It’s an uncomfortable mix, musically and thematically, but Plan B’s never really been interested in making the listening easy.

When Dizzee started going all proper pop, I got bored and wandered off somewhere else. Plan B’s gone pop and I’m still fucking terrifed of him. It’s straight from the top shelf, a brutal, brilliant start to the decade’s roster of singles, and a whopping great signpost to the flavour of the new album. Will someone please, please just make sure Calvin Harris doesn’t get within ten feet of the man.