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 In the crowded, smoked-filled clubs of Mongolia's forbidding plains, where cheap Russian-style vodka is the drink of choice, teens in baggy clothes dance under the blurred beat of Eminem.
Mongolian rappers glower from huge advertisements. And the staccato sound of hip-hop pounds from taxi stereos in the dust-filled capital, Ulan Bator, where more than two dozen radio stations offer a steady diet of hip-hop mixed with rock and pop.
The music is offering the trappings of outlaw cool in a small, impoverished country where the feared conqueror Genghis Khan launched attacks on rival China 800 years ago and where wintertime temperatures plunge to 20-below.
"I like to dress like the boys in hip-hop bands," says 17-year-old Amarjargal, a high school student wearing baggy pants and chains around his neck. "I always ask my parents to bring me hip-hop clothes when they go to China. My favorite Mongolian hip-hop band is Tatar. They rap about love."
Amarjargal, who like most Mongolians uses one name, also likes the American artists Tupac Shakur and Diddy.
"I don't understand what they are singing as I don't speak English," he says. "But I like the way they rap and the beat. They are very cool."
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 Not everyone is happy about hip-hop's spread across the steppe, whether it's elders who worry that rap music will fray Mongolia's tradition-bound culture or an artistic elite who favor native art forms.
"Songs by hip-hop bands fuel moral and artistic decline in Mongolia," says art critic Narangerel. "Children and teenagers used to be very respectful toward elders and behaved well. But now our media is saturated with obscene lyrics and images of hip-hop culture. It seems hip-hop artists glorify partying and drinking. The youth gets the wrong impression from them."
Western pop culture began spreading in Mongolia in the mid-1990s, when the country opened up to the world after 70 years of communism.
As the country become democratic, culture flowered, too, says Amaraa, founder of Mongolia's first hip-hop techno band Har Sarnai, which means Black Rose. Har Sanai's lyrics are mainly about nationalism, love and the hardships of urban life.
"Starting in the mid-1990s, my friends and I would watch MTV and listen to hip-hop and techno songs of the Western world," he says. "We mainly imitated their style of clothes and hairdressing. We composed our own songs and beats. Back then, there were no other bands like us that were into techno and hip-hop."
Since then, rappers have taken on Mongolian politics. The band Ice Top raps about corruption and bribery in their song "Our 76," referring to the parliament's 76 members:
"Yo, Mongolian people
Don't trust these 76
Trust the heavens
And don't be cheated."
"The Mongolian language is a monotonous language that is easy to rhyme and rap," Amaraa says. "We want to spread love for Mongolia and Mongolian culture through our music."
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 The transition from communism to democracy and free-market capitalism has not been easy for Mongolia. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Mongolia lost Soviet subsidies that made up one-third of its economy. Factories closed and Russian engineers went home.
Two straight years of drought devastated herders, and thousands moved to Ulan Bator looking for work. But there was no work.
Today, sprawling shantytowns surround Ulan Bator — a maze of tents and shacks that don't have heat, running water or basic public hygiene. They are known as the "Ger districts," after Mongolia's traditional round white tent, called a ger. Alcoholism and crime are rampant in the districts, as is hopelessness.
Three boys from the Ger districts formed what is now Mongolia's No. 1 hip-hop band, called Tatar, the name of ancient Mongolian tribe that existed during the time of Genghis Khan.
"At first we listened to French hip-hop music and then formed our own band and composed some songs," says Batzaya, who formed the group in 2003 with his high-school classmates Jagaa and Moogii.
"Our songs are about love, and issues facing Mongolian society such as alcoholism and unemployment," he adds.
Their first single on the Sonor label — "Respect the Love" — was an instant hit. In "Hip Hop Person," they address critics who accuse them of adopting the music of black people.
"I don't care what others think
Nobody taught me this hip hop
Nobody watered me like a young tree
I am a man who listens to hip hop."
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Today, Tatar's core fans are urban youths like themselves, but they've also taken their act to the countryside where they play for the rural herders who make up half of Mongolia's population.
"Rural people really enjoy our shows because they are hungry for new things. Not many cultural events go on in countryside and therefore they are starving for anything new," Batzaya says.
"Now, we would like to take Mongolian hip-hop to the world," he says. "We are selling our CDs in Japan and signed a contract with the Japanese firm Music Securities." Tatar performed in Japan in June 2005.
Even in Dalanzadgad — a remote dusty town in the southern Gobi Desert that can justifiably called the ends of the earth — hip-hop is making inroads.
There, 16-year-old Naranbaatar formed a band called "White Snow" with three friends. They rap during their free time after they've finished their schoolwork.
"I like hip-hop because the beat is so cool and you can write your own lyrics and express yourself more freely than other music genres," he says. "I dream of moving to Ulan Bator and playing hip-hop there."
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asap contributor Ganbat Namjil is an AP correspondent in Ulan Bator, Mongolia.
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