There’s something in the air tonight. Ibiza Rocks’ first gig of the summer is packed to the max. If I could bottle the feeling running though the in-famous 2,000+ capacity, rock ‘n’ roll hotel venue, based in the heart of Ibiza’s San Antonio, I’d call it... husky anticipation, anyone? 
 
After a killer warm-up from grime motor mouth Wretch 32, and a guest cameo from Ibiza Rocks regular and aftershow host Example, the punters are beside themselves with excitement. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the building, I’m preparing to meet the man they’re all waiting for – one Ben Drew, more commonly known as Plan B. He’s installed
at the hotel’s penthouse, in preparation for a
quick interview.
I step into the lush top-floor apartment, complete with ginormous rooftop terrace and bubbling hot-tub, a hideaway which has been host to an abundance of post-performance drinking sessions. I’m guilty of instigating and participating in more than a few of them, with a cast of rock ’n’ roll reprobates including Bombay Bicycle Club, Detroit Social Club, The Mystery Jets, Pete Doherty, Frightened Rabbit – and then some. As I close the door from the inside, Plan B’s unmistakably seductive soulful voice is ringing out. Turns out he’s serenading some lucky XBox competition winners with Ben E. King’s ‘Stand By Me’. As the fans gaze adoringly – more than one unashamedly allowing her tears to flow – I have to control the lump in my own throat...
It’s time to get out of here. I lead Ben towards the twinkling stage, chatting along the way as prearranged, the cameras running ahead of us as
we go.
Having performed in sister hotel Mallorca Rocks last night, Ben has some sense of what to expect over the next hour or so.
“It was good fun,” he says of the previous day’s gig. “I liked it... it was different. I’d never been to Mallorca before – but then I’ve never been to
Ibiza either.”
He flashes me a broad grin. “So I’m very excited tonight,” he adds. “I’m sure it’s got to be pretty similar to Mallorca, only bigger, crazier...”
He’s not wrong! That’s the way it is here. The fans come to Ibiza to party: there’s an electricity in the place that’s hard to match. For all the adulation, does the touring life ever get too much?  “This year I ain’t been ‘ome hardly at all,” he confesses.
I can think of worse complaints. So what, I ask, is running through your mind right now, as you’re about to go on – and everyone’s so obviously dying to see you?!
“Urmm,” he says and gives me another of those cheeky grins, “that you don’t ask me a controversial question!”
Shoot, there goes my poser about his anger management counselling... Instead I opt for a bit of surrealism. How do you like your eggs? 
“What?! My eggs?!” He laughs out loud. “You’re funny... Why, how do you eat yours?”
At this point it becomes apparent we’ve veered the wrong way and ended up on the VIP balcony; spotting the star of the show, the crowd lets out an almighty cheer, and a load of cameras start flashing. Ben grabs me by the waist and steers me towards his dressing room...
“We’re going the wrong way!” he says, emphasising the ‘we’ like a true gentleman.
Straining to be heard over the hullabaloo, I question how it feels being the centre of all this attention?
“At this level – well, this is quite new,” he muses.
There’s a whole lot of love in the room, I tell him.
“It’s never been this bad before, I gotta say!” he reflects. “Since the Ivor Novellos, I’ve noticed I’m getting all this crazy attention, because I ‘aven’t been in the country since the Brits.”
In fact, he’s been collecting awards at a furious pace recently – ‘Best Male’ at the Brits and three (count ‘em) Novellos – and one suspects that’s just for starters. So how many are currently jazzing up his mantelpiece?
“I reckon about seven... I ain’t counted them
really. They’re not in my house at the moment. As I said, I haven’t been ‘ome, so I’m keeping them in a safe place.”
We’ve made it to Ben’s dressing room. The time for talking is over. With the sound of the crowd intensifying outside, he gets ready to make his entrance.
As he steps onto the stage a deafening roar fills the sky. I am surrounded by a gaggle of girls hovering outside, who’ve seen me walking through with Plan B. “Oh my god, you’ve got like, the best job in the world!” they gush. 
You’ll get no argument from me, ladies.
Beneath a summer-tinged evening’s sky, Plan B gives one hell of a performance. Launching straight into most recent hit ‘Writing’s On The Wall’, he sets the bar at an incredible height, and maintains the standard throughout, delighting his fans with ‘Stay Too Long’, ‘Loves Goes Down’, ‘The Recluse’. By the time he gets to all-time commercial favourite, and final number ‘She Said’, I’ve gone hoarse cheering, while overexcited ladies are pelting their panties onto the stage. 
For his encore Ben, with assistance from beatboxing pal and warm-up man Faith SFX, covers the classics ‘My Girl’ and ‘Stand By Me’ with his own modern day twist, and performs an unbelievably mint mash-up of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ and ‘Kiss From A Rose’. Gasping for breath, as the house light come up and the stage is cleared, I’m in no doubt that we’ve just witnessed a show that will go down in the annals as one of Ibiza Rocks’ magical moments.
Within seconds, I get a call from Ben’s management. “He wants you to take him out tonight,” I’m informed rather professionally, as if I’ve been asked to fax through the latest stats for his album or something. Conveniently, I’m DJing at the private aftershow being laid on for Ben in the Ibiza Rocks House, a smashing boutique hotel known to many as Pikes. The hotel was the set for Wham’s legendary ‘Club Tropicana’ video; Freddie Mercury held his 41st birthday party here; indeed the who’s who of ‘80s rock stayed (and partied) within these grounds, including Grace Jones, Boy George, Guns N’ Roses and Jon Bon Jovi in their pomp – and now it’s the turn of a new generation. On entering the establishment, you can feel the illicit debauchery seeping from the walls.
Ben’s certainly in the party mood and is thoroughly enjoying the company of the scantily-clad ladies that were lingering outside his dressing-room at the gig, and are now bidding for his attention (how did they make it in through security?). At 6am, mojitos
and Champagne still flowing, the party remains in full swing.
One of Ben’s crew approaches the decks. “Ben wants you to play more hip hop and house. Do you have any Swedish House Mafia? He loves it...” Eh?! I beg your pardon?! 
At first I’m surprised, but on reflection I don’t know why. This boy is unique. That he clearly knows his shit is reflected in every finely-honed groove of his records.
Since the release of Plan B’s critically acclaimed second album The Defamation of Strickland Banks in 2010, his attire has gone from street hoodies to dapper suits. And musically, he’s managed to merge hip hop and Motown and make it seem ridiculously, brilliantly compatible.
Sound as a pound, serious actor, serial award-winner and charismatic performer, Plan B, ain’t going nowhere for the foreseeable future.
Except up...

Plan B plays Oxegen Saturday July 9