Plan B - iLL Manors

The UK's fondness of one solo male musician per year has boomed in the 21st century. James Morrison, James Blunt, Will Young and, in 2011, Ed Sheeran have all enjoyed buoyant rises to fame off the back of thoroughly mediocre albums piqued with one (or two) hit songs. Plan B, in 2010, did much the same thing with his sophomore The Defamation of Strickland Banks, although he'd featured on modest successes such as Chase & Status' End Credits already by that point. His album however was a major step away from his early hip hop/R&B roots, welcoming all forms of jazz, soul and even some big band elements.

To me, however, the hype was lost. That's due in part, of course, to the UK media's frustrating zeal in thrusting every single new sensation into every aspect of your life until you're aware of who they are (adverts, awards shows, chat shows, magazines, about 30+ weeks on the increasingly-predictable album charts). The songs were certainly fine enough to warrant the success - She Said, Stay Too Long and Prayin' were all quite enjoyable, but worthy of so many awards? No. Certainly not. Here, Plan B aims higher though and whilst his socio-political movie might've failed to reap rave reviews, the album seems to be.

For every fresh and breaking idea, the album starts with two well-placed and exciting samples: the title track uses German musician Peter Fox's Alles Neu and its fantastic string hook whilst Drew presents his most cutting and vitriolic of attacks at British politicians ("He's got a hoodie on, give him a hug/ on second thoughts don't, you don't wanna get mugged") inbetween dark humour ("NHS healthcare, yes please, many thanks/ people get stabbed around here there's many shanks") and a host of cultural references. On 'I am the Narrator' the sample of choice is Camille Saint-Saëns' beautiful Aquarium, which sounds awful on paper but works well as an eerie backing to Drew's trip-hop beats. Distancing the listener from the "harrowing ride", it serves as an interesting third-person view of drug culture - "crack addicts looking for other addicts to steal from/ walking around wondering where they'll get their next meal from" - inbetween clever wordplay about "antisocial network"ing. Guest Takura Tendayi appears then on 'Drug Dealer', an almost antireggae track with a solid beat and tune, all underpinning a verbiose narrative from 1995.

Although a strictly east London series of tales, there are elements of baile funk about the beats and melodies on 'Playing With Fire', a tale about "just a kid" brought into the drug world. Drew finally resurrects his impressive vocals, then, on 'Deepest Shame', the record's second single that observes wasted potential - "the past lived in the dark parts of her brain/ and only heroin seemed to take away the pain" - inbetween poignant vocal refrains. The film's murderous tale is apparent in the clips interloping 'Pity the Plight', an otherwise tragically pretty piano track in the same vein as Eminem's Lose Yourself that's slightly spoilt by the rather predictable poetry from the revered punk poet John Cooper Clarke. The pace picks up on 'Lost My Way' with out-of-tune piano hooks to add to the discomfort, and, opening overwrought wordplay on the album title aside, gripping lyrics. "One true religion that was driven by greed/ corporate machines trying to sell you shit you don't need" is one such critique of the materialism of the western world, and the refrain "if you don't believe in something then you'll fall for anything" closes the epic.

More eerie sounds and samples introduce 'The Runaway', where "this was her reality/ place where dreams come true for those with no morality", but here the music almost begins to sound pantomime in their desperation to paint a sinister setting. 'Great Day for a Murder' attacks the media's portrayal of youth culture with repeated references to the tabloids ("If you're out of ammunition go and buy the Sun/ and read up on all the council-house-and-violent scum", "Looking at the Sun will make you go blind, just like people say/ Cost you your sight when it's just 30p a day"). Those looking for something a little more melodic and easy to handle should probably look to 'Live Once' and its listenable piano hooks, and it's probably best to make the most of that before the drudging, tedious 'Falling Down' dully thuds its non-tune into submission.

If there's one gripe that'll continually irk me with any soundtrack album it's including clips of that film's dialogue inbetween tracks. Aside from that personal problem, though, Ill Manors kicks off excitingly and, although fading towards the end with a lack of ideas, makes for a visceral and dark listening experience that every middle class listener will just love to pretend to relate to and understand. I'm one of them. So, boiling it down to all that I can appreciate - its music - it's fine, powerful but never outstanding. It's also predictably been moulded by each media outlet to fit its own means: The Guardian is trawling with complaints about his Bulmers advert and his credibility, NME have taken it as a sledgehammer to manufactured pop, and the Daily Mail just bloody hated the film with no real reason. Therefore it just feels difficult to take this as a refreshing (and certainly not personal since it's all third-person) presentation of the streets, but musically it's fine.

Rating: 7/10
Highlights: Drug Dealer, Live Once, Lost my Way, Ill Manors, Deepest Shame
Avoid: Pity the Plight, Falling Down, The Runaway

Artwork Watch: I genuinely only just noticed that the razor spells out his name. This has now overshadowed my nonchalance over the artwork. 
Up next: The Gaslight Anthem