Plan B live at The Village, Dublin

Plan B’s shtick is unedifying in theory, yet surprisingly enjoyable in practice; a fact underlined by this consistently engaging night’s entertainment. Hip-hop does not usually mesh well with singer-songwriter earnestness, yet the UK rapper (real name Ben Drew) somehow manages to strike the right balance. Too often, this sort of thing degenerates into a cosy-campfire, MOR take on hip-hop (House Of Pain MC Everlast’s ill-advised re-invention as an acoustic troubadour being the most pertinent example) but Drew seems to be in thrall to the best elements of both genres; heart-on-your-sleeve honesty merged with sick, dark humour and a steely rhythmic edge.
The concert’s opening volley is the most impressive I’ve experienced for some time. Drew’s band – bass, drums and decks – emerge before him, the sampled sounds of a distant thunderstorm setting a mood of gothic gloom and foreboding that rarely lets up throughout the evening. We hear Plan B before we see him, as his opening rap begins while he is out of the audience’s view. He emerges fully a little later; black-hooded, intense and vitriolic.
The two tracks following the introduction are similarly impressive. ‘Where Ya From?’ is a monumental wall of angst and fury, a slow-burning sonic exorcism of boredom and frustration. Plan B pulls out his acoustic guitar for the first time on ‘Dead And Buried’; a thrillingly bleak three-part narrative, on which he showcases a surprisingly-angelic singing voice, and confirms his knack for concise, punchy storytelling.
This sort of momentum is impossible to sustain, but while Plan B never quite attains the same heights, he is rarely less than excellent. ‘Missing Links’ expertly samples Radiohead’s ‘Pyramid Song’, preserving the original’s moody magnificence, while re-casting it in a thrillingly different fashion. ‘No More Eatin’’ builds superbly, climaxing in a haze of frenetic, metallic guitar noise.
The gig is sparsely attended, but this lends the evening a peculiar (and enjoyable) air of warm intimacy; a feeling that is at odds with Plan B’s unrelentingly bleak world view, certainly, but perhaps therein lies his appeal – that rare ability to turn dark, unpleasant subject matter into something grimly beautiful.