It's time for PLAN B

Being hailed as 'Middle England's Worst Nightmare' in the more reactionary sections of the British Press came as no surprise to Plan B. "That's just what they're interested in, Middle England and nothing else," he tells me, "the government don't give a shit about anyone else."

The world he evokes is an amoral dystopia, where kids run wild, the television's showing nothing but violence and everyone's looking for someone to blame. Talking about David Cameron's attack on violence in music, particularly targeted at the much ridiculed Tim Westwood, he says that "he's fucking missing the point. American hip-hop, guns and expensive cars, is weak. I'm showing them reality and they can't handle it."

Far from glorifying violence, Plan B flinches at "senseless bravado," instead leaning towards a street level social critique. From Forest Gate, on the fringes of North East London, he says that "although London's bad now, it's always been that way, it's just that we're talking about it now." Exposing the grim, dog eat dog world of the streets, he insists that "it's no good to just cover things up. I mean, I'm fucking educated, I'm lucky. We need to tell people about this shit."

Just like Bob Dylan, Plan B has had the label of "protest singer dumped on me. You know, that's not what I started out as but I guess it's true." Singing about the true story of an honour killing, when an Islamic girl is beaten to death for buying a copy of Bliss, the visceral, shocking power of the story exposes his desire to deal with the injustices of multicultural London. "You know, people shy away from talking about things like that. East London's always been a place where people have been dumped and there's always gonna be conflict." His approach to the reasons for violence is nuanced, in a London where "it's knife crime that's the problem," he exposes how he was bullied constantly in a song culminating in him shouting "no more eating for you now," at someone that tries to jack him. In another rapper's hands it would have been simple boasting; in his, it turns into an attempt to explain how a hard life and injustices turn people towards violence.

Speaking again about David Cameron he says that "he's got it all wrong man. You know, I was watching the news the other day and it showed this little girl's feet, then her body and then her head, with a huge fucking hole in it. Five minutes later the program changed to They Think it's All Over and everything was alright again. I can't forget that shit." The hypocrisy of the government's approach to feral youth is that "they can't look at themselves man. They say that computer games, television, rap music or whatever causes it, but then we're at war, bombing innocent people. It's fucked up." I ask him if he feels that it's beneficial to young people to get involved with politics, to which he replies: "no fucking way man, it's the devil in disguise… power through corruption."

Offering no salvation, no light at the end of the tunnel, Plan B's unflinching portrayal of a society unsure where to turn is conjoined with a level of personal revelation unheard of since, well, Eminem. He rails against his Christian Dad, comparing him to Ned Flanders, saying that "I don't hate you. I don't love you neither. You're nothing to me."

Just as Eminem's power lies in satire, Plan B's lies in unremitting realism and eloquence. Whilst he says that "Eminem proved to me that white kids could rap," the comparison is "lazy… we're talking about different things." On the music industry, he raps, "they don't care about what talent you've got, just your bank balance." He concludes, "I'm just here to tell the truth man," and Plan B's truth is grim, but long awaited.