Everybody knows that foreign artists can only have a hit in the States as long as they sing in English. Conversely, Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony are credited with spearheading a "Latin boom" not only in America, but all over the world, by singing poppish variations of Afro-Cuban styles in English, not Spanish. Think about it, especially if, like me, you don't trust any "Latin boom" that doesn't include Los Van Van.

Which is why we need Proyecto Uno now more than ever. All four members of this hip-hop merengue unit are New Yorkers who sing and rap in a dense mixture of Spanish and English but mostly the former, and it hasn't prevented them from becoming one of the hottest acts on dance-oriented radio, both Latin and non-Latin, in the northeastern U.S. Though merengue fans would prefer they stick to Spanish, and conventional radio programmers say they'd slot their singles if they put out more English versions, Proyecto Uno stick to their linguistic guns. And as any hip-hopper will tell you, being real is what it's all about.

More than half the crowd at the group's Shinjuku Liquid Room concert Nov. 21 was Latin American, ranging in age from teenagers to fiftysomethings. Several times, leader Nelson Zapata shouted out to the various nations of the Caribbean and Central and South America, and each call got a response, but the loudest came when Zapata mentioned his own birthplace, the Dominican Republic, which, after all, is the birthplace of merengue.

I'm sure the promoters would have preferred a bigger audience, but the less-than-capacity crowd meant there was more room for dancing, which was what most of the people had come to do. That may not be saying much, since a lot of people go to concerts to dance, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to a show where people were dancing with one another. (Now I remember: Cuban singer Issac Delgado at Akasaka Blitz in September '98.) There was even a well-dressed young Japanese couple at the back of the dance floor doing a fox trot, and very nicely.

That's no mean feat considering how fast merengue is normally and how much faster it is when fueled by Proyecto Uno's house rhythms. As with standard (as opposed to traditional) merengue, the group's four vocalists parlay split-second call-and-response patterns while moving in Motown-like lockstep. But the hip-hop overlay means that the vocals are as often declaimed as sung, and the dancing is looser.

Due to the dodgy quality of the individual vocals and the cookie-cutter songwriting, P.U. is closer in style to Menudo than they are to other hip-hop groups on the Latin tip, like the Beatnuts or, for that matter, to progressive merengue artists like Grupo 4:40.

Still, I wouldn't call them kids. They're a bit chunky, for one thing, a testament to 10 years of continuous success rather than their age (Zapata is the only member over 30). The extra pounds didn't subtract from the overt sexuality of the performance. During "Pumpin"' each member did exactly what the title implies in a contest to see who could come up with the most provocative hip-grinding and thrusting motions.

Erik Morales, a Puerto Rican with a well-trimmed goatee and too perfect hair, was the winner and received the most attention from the female contingent. Twice, a very young girl in a skimpy white top and tight, body-skimming black hip-huggers jumped up on stage and started doing her own grind against Erik's leather-clad left hipbone.

Johnny Salgado, who's also Puerto Rican and, like Zapata, sports a shaved scalp, is touted as the most popular member among teenage girls, probably because he's the shortest and seems approachable. But he's also the only one who can consistently carry a tune. He handled most of the lover-boy numbers in a high croon straight out of the Maxwell school of self-flattering seduction.

Magic Juan, a Dominican who grew up in New Jersey, is the best rapper of the four, which means he commanded the stage most of the time. Like the rest of the crew, he was dressed all in black, but was the only member wearing headgear: a sweat-soaked suede safari hat that kept sliding over his short 'fro and into his eyes. During "Empujando el cielo," which spikes its supersonic merengue rhythms with a healthy dose of salsa piano, Juan set a new land-speed record for rapping, letting loose an incredible stream of labial plosives. Now that's flow.

It was not, however, as good as the album version; I really did miss the timbales and horns. The band was able, especially bassist Sandy Anderson, but percussion was limited to a drummer, conga player and effects, and all the other parts were covered by two keyboard players. Individual members occasionally picked up a guayo, the metallic instrument whose scraped sound is the touchstone of merengue, but it got buried in the mix.

Zapata, who invented merengue hip hop (there are now a number of other groups also doing "meren-house" in NYC), rarely takes center stage, probably because he sees himself as an implementer rather than a star. "You people should be dancing," he said in a rare bit of Englais. "Don't look at us all the time." What he meant was, Don't look at me.

The crowd was perfectly capable of doing both. As the group raced through the last two numbers, "Latinos" and their signature song, "El Tiburon," the room was so hot the floor started sweating. People were dancing on the tables, waving miniature Dominican flags, and shouting along with the clave chorus: "No para, sigue, sigue." It's as easy to sing as "La vida loca," even for Anglos.