Downtown West Shinjuku. The company workers have all gone home, leaving the streets quiet except for the sound of traffic.

But as you near the Yasuda Fire & Marine Insurance Building, a monolithic, mirrored skyscraper, the boom-boom bass of hip-hop can be heard in the distance. Being the only building in Shinjuku where street dancers are allowed to practice on the property, it is a magnet for B-boys and B-girls.

Hip-hop has become an integral part of Japan's urban landscape. The sight of kids practicing on the streets no longer draws curious onlookers. Shops in the Shibuya-Harajuku area, like Triple Five Soul, Sean John and Enyce, sell the latest fashions imported from the United States. For the dopest sights, sounds and moves, there are plenty of magazines such as Woofin' and Dance Style and videotapes of famous dance competitions.

Obviously, hip-hop hasn't just arrived; it's growing roots.

In and around Tokyo, dozens of dance studios have sprung up and teach every stripe of hip-hop -- from the traditional lock dance, break dance and old school to club jazz and girls' hip-hop. And these days, business is booming. At a popular downtown studio, the number of students taking hip-hop lessons doubled from 1996 to 2002 -- with many of the students aspiring to become professional dancers like their teachers. The studio now employs 50 instructors teaching a total of more than 60 classes a week.

Jungle is a 26-year-old professional dancer who teaches at Studio Turns in Shinjuku. Dancing for a living, like any other entertainment business, is an unpredictable job. Still, Jungle decided to risk it, and made it. Today, she is living the hip-hop life.

"I made it simply because I dedicated myself to dancing," says Jungle. "In high school, I woke up early to practice by myself, wore toe shoes during math, danced with my club-mates after school, and then I stayed even later to practice by myself again. People would often say, 'Sugoi ne [Wow],' but it isn't. What I did was totally natural."

Not everyone, though, has Jungle's determination and luck. Many have to give up hip-hop completely or switch to a different field.

Hi-D used to be a professional hip-hop dancer in Finland, but he gave it up and became an R&B singer instead because there wasn't much demand for dancers in the hip-hop market. "It's a shame because there are a lot of talented people here, but very few opportunities to go professional," Hi-D says.

Even for the exceptions like Jungle, the going has been far from easy. "I wish I could teach less and concentrate more on my dancing," she says, "but unfortunately, the pay at club events and from performances isn't that great. It's not as bad as before, but many people in the business still think that dancers are extras, and therefore we get low payment."

Compared to the United States, hip-hop culture in Japan has a very short history and is still in its developing stages. While a creative renaissance of hip-hop and rap was beginning in the U.S. in the late '70s, the trend didn't really hit Japan until the late '80s and early '90s.

"Americans are born into hip-hop, whereas Japan imported it," says Hi-D. "If we think of the U.S. as 100 percent, Japan is 50 percent. In order to make up that empty 50 percent, we must create something that is original to be able to compete on the same level."

Recently, Japanese people have begun to fill that gap and to astonish the world with their talent.

In 2001, at the B-Boy World Cup held in Paris, the Japanese members of the dance team Spartanic Rockers (a Swiss-Japanese group) tied with Spain for third place. In the same year at Battle of the Year in Germany, a Japanese group called Team Ohh came in second.

In the music industry as well, Japanese artists such as DJ Krush and DJ Honda have made themselves known overseas with their unique styles. Domestically, more Japanese hip-hop artists, such as Zebra, Dabo and Verbal, are coming into the mainstream, but the numbers are still small.

Darrell Harris, general manager of InterFM's "Joint One Radio Show" thinks the savvy artists intentionally stay on the fringes. "Keeping underground means that they are independent mostly without a label," he says. "They can make really rough tracks with lyrics that cannot be aired." Ultimately, any hip-hop artist, whether they're dancers or musicians, has to gain acceptance and support from society -- and it won't be easy.

"Japan is a conservative society, so this wild, raw culture is quite hard to take," Harris says. "So, of course the doors are going to be closed. What most people don't realize is that many Japanese singers categorized as J-pop are actually hip-hop. Dragon Ash and Chemistry are typical examples. They are taking that raw image and candy-coating it to make it easier for the public to accept."

Before these artists can make inroads, society has to reconsider its stereotypes of hip-hop.

"Hip-hop is often thought of as something created in the ghettos, an urban image with lyrics that cannot be aired," says Harris. "But that isn't so. Hip-hop is what you make it. It started from nothing and yet it is everything."