Jim Burke, better known as Mr.B The Gentleman Rhymer, pioneer of chap-hop, on the banjolele, the Great Chap-Hop Beef of 2011, learning at the feet of Sparks, and the one rule he lives by: never plan anything

The one inadvertent rule of thumb Jim Burke has developed across a lifetime in music is this: never plan anything. It is a philosophy he arrived at, appropriately, in a gin haze, and it should by rights have produced nothing durable at all. Instead it produced Mr.B The Gentleman Rhymer - a pipe-smoking, moustachioed gentleman who raps in cut-glass Received Pronunciation over a banjolele, and who has now been getting away with it for the better part of twenty years.

He did not, though, spring from nowhere. Burke had been at music since his teens, and the path to Mr.B wound through a parade of discarded guises, each more improbable than the last. There was an indie dance band, a dandyish punk group, an indie hip-hop outfit that loosed Eat My Goal upon the nation's football terraces, where it took up more or less permanent residence. After that came dance records, a banjolele covers act and a hip-hop crew that contrived, against considerable odds, to tour Japan. Mr.B, when he finally surfaced, was less an invention than the sum of everything before him. The decision to conjure him was, needless to say, taken over a drink in a public house.

The instrument is a banjolele - the hybrid George Formby made famous - and no, before you ask, he is not merely strumming it for effect. Burke plays everything on his own records: drums, double bass, guitars, keyboards, even a trombone. He records for his own Cheam Beat label, tours from Glastonbury to Tokyo, and is watched over by a devoted following he calls the Biscuits. What began as a gag in a pub has become, in his own phrase, his de facto setting.

Was chap-hop meant to last a fortnight?

The idea came to me in a public house, in a gin haze, and when I describe it to people it still sounds like a very silly idea. But some silly ideas have legs. Like Ed-209. When I played my first Mr.B show, an old friend came up afterwards and said, "This is the best thing you've ever done" - so I thought it might work. That it's carried on for almost twenty years is not something I'd have predicted.

Has anyone from hip-hop ever objected to the banjolele?

I once met the former editor of the American rap magazine The Source, and he told me I was, and I quote, "the only interesting thing happening in hip-hop right now" - so at least one person didn't object. Nobody's been openly hostile, away from the YouTube comments section, and I regard the threats on there as a badge of honour. As far as I can tell, I'm getting away with it. I am a genuine fan of hip-hop, though, and I hope that comes across.

What were you before Mr.B?

Many things. A quick potted history: an indie dance band called Skank Thing from 1990, whose great achievement was appearing on The Word; then a dandy punk band, the Schooner Boys, who made comedy films à la The Monkees and sang about sherry, cravats and ultra-violence; then Collapsed Lung, an indie hip-hop band who had a minor hit with Eat My Goal; then some dance music as Sgt Rock; then, when I moved to Brighton, a banjolele-based covers act called Rock, Onic & Bob, who played Fatboy Slim's forty-second birthday. Around then I formed a hip-hop crew with a friend from Belfast, and we toured Japan. Then I became Mr.B. He was a natural culmination of everything I'd done before.

Why the banjolele - and can you actually play it?

Can I actually play it? How very dare you! I'm a maestro. It's the instrument George Formby used to play. And I play a number of others too - I do everything on my albums: drums, double bass, bits of guitar, keyboards, trombone. Admittedly I play the trombone badly, but that adds a comic frisson.

Tweed, in July, under stage lights. Not too hot?

I'll tell you a secret: I stopped wearing tweed on stage years ago. I prefer a decent drill or linen. It's more practical and still looks splendid.

How much of the feud with Professor Elemental was real?

You'll have to ask him - he started it. The Great Chap-Hop Beef of 2011, yes, it was that long ago, led to a great deal of interest in chap-hop, so it was a splendid idea on his part. It also means we're now two friends who understand each other's jobs.

What did you learn watching Sparks from the wings?

That was glorious - particularly supporting them at the Albert Hall. I wrote almost an entire album while they were on stage. What I love about them, from touring with them and from their whole story, is that even in the years when interest had waned, they still got up every morning, got together, and were Sparks. They kept going. Never looking back too much, always looking forward, always making something new. And they were absolute gentlemen. Which is always inspiring.

How does a niche act make a living in 2026?

By doing almost everything alone, I'm afraid. If I had to pay anyone else, it wouldn't be a going concern. But niche is the way to go. People should never make art they think will be popular. If it's popular, that's either because it's good or because a company with money and clout has invested in you for some reason.

I just keep making original music and never rest on my laurels - which is why I'm doing a brand-new show, Mr.B's Probably Accurate Hip-Hop History Show, this autumn.

Have you ever felt trapped by the character? Could you write as yourself, or invent a new one?

I wouldn't say Mr.B is a character, exactly. He's an extension of me - my id, if you'll allow me to go a little psychobabble on you. I still gig with Collapsed Lung, and for that I almost have to become a character called 'Jim'. Mr.B has more or less become my de facto setting. I've no idea why I'm adding so much Latin to this answer.

And The Major, and the Gentleman Selector - what are they for?

I've always made music in my spare time. The Major is something I started about ten years ago as a way of decompressing after finishing a Mr.B album. Most people would go on holiday, or escape to a pied-à-terre in the country. I just make more music. It's a little collection of vaguely melancholy electronic instrumental hip-hop, and it went down well enough that I've even played a few gigs as him. Mr.B The Gentleman Selector, meanwhile, is simply Mr.B making more upbeat, dance-oriented things - acid ragtime, chapstep, big-band big beat. I should have just called both of those Gentleman Rhymer albums, since nobody can seem to find them on streaming. But hey-ho.

The most eccentric thing you've ever done?

My entire 'career' has been one thirty-odd-year act of eccentricity.

What do you make of the Eccentric Club - and of chappism, now the magazine's gone?

I love that it's there as an institution, even if I sometimes wonder whether declaring oneself an eccentric is a particularly eccentric thing to do. I'm glad there's a place dedicated to some jolly weirdos. The Chap magazine was one of my early inspirations for Mr.B - I just wanted a mention in it, and now we've all been friends for years. I used to write Chap-Hop diaries and various, I'm going to say, 'think pieces', though I'm chuckling as I say it. The Chap still puts events on, and the Grand Flâneur Walk is one of my favourite days of the year - though I'll miss the winter one this time, owing to touring and all that gubbins.

A time machine. Would you use it - and would you perform in it?

Whatever decade I ended up in, people are going to be confused.

Three wishes from a genie.

World peace. Free tweed for all. And the drummer in the studio next door to take a month off.

Does chap-hop outlive chapness - and what happens when you stop?

I've no idea what happens when I stop, because I'll be dead.

I don't know whether chap-hop could outlive chapness. One would hope the two carry on alongside each other.

A word of advice - to your younger self, or the audience.

Were I ever to meet my younger self, I'd say: "You're not going to believe this - you're going to make a living making your own music, and you'll still be doing it well into your fifties. I know. Ridiculous, isn't it?"

And to the younger person in the audience: try with all your might to find something you love doing, then try to make a living from it - and even if you don't manage that, keep doing it anyway, because we must take all the joy we can from this increasingly bewildering life.

But most of all: face the world with a dandy stance.

Mr.B The Gentleman Rhymer records for his own Cheam Beat label. His new show, Mr.B's Probably Accurate Hip-Hop History Show, tours this autumn. He remains, resolutely, a maestro of the banjolele.