Straight outta Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian hip hop as a reaction to economic transition

Mongolian hip-hop emerged following the collapse of communism. Enkhtaikhan, a 2000’s music producer, describes this phenomenon in Mongolian Bling, a 2012 documentary on hip-hop in Ulaanbaatar: 'When communism collapsed, all Mongolians eagerly grasped the new concepts of capitalism. At that time Mongolia was just like a white sheet of paper. That’s when the roots of hip-hop started, with dance.' Examining hip-hop as a cultural artefact uncovers real-life impacts and personal experiences of Mongolia’s transition from socialism to democracy. 

Communism to Capitalism

The transition period ushered in upheaval in the form of mass unemployment, poverty, income inequality and corruption on the path to democracy. Accompanied by a burgeoning youthful population, Ulaanbaatar in the late 1990’s was fertile grounds for politically motivated hip-hop to take off.

Bold, aka ‘Dlob’, is a producer and musician who I met at his record store Dundgol, around the corner from the State Department Store in Ulaanbaatar. Bold’s brother, Quiza, is one of the best-known rappers in Mongolia. He has become an advocate for the nation’s hip-hop scene appearing on the documentary Mongolian Bling, a Ted X conference in 2011 and on the Al Jazeera news network. In the documentary he says 'I grew up under socialism until I was ten, then democracy took over Mongolia. At that time starvation struck and everything was rationed'.

Mongolia’s first hip-hop group formed in 1996, War and Peace. They were inspired by the emancipatory spirit of MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice because they represented 'similar conditions and ideas to the situations we were in', says Quiza. Many of War and Peace’s lyrics were inspired by the Mongolian poet Choinim, whose poems were outlawed during the Socialist period, resisting censorship.

Ger Districts

Following the collapse of the USSR, there was the emergence of ‘ger districts’ (suburbs made up of moveable yurts), largely due to rapid urbanisation. Bold indicated that many rappers in the early 2000’s were from the ger district and felt a need to rhyme about the social inequality and poverty in these areas. In Mongolian Bling, two high school aged rappers from the ger district are interviewed: Badral and Telmuum. Badral discusses his neighbourhood, where 'the ger districts are like the gangster hoods of America.' Telmuum notes with a hint of sarcasm 'everything is just fine in Mongolian political life, except that little thing called corruption'. Their lyrics reflect these social and political qualms.

I discussed these themes with prominent hip-hop artist Bodikhuu after a gig I attended in Ulaanbaatar. When asked about the recent election, he indicated that his friends were not happy about it, as there was the view that politicians don’t support young people and that they are corrupt. Mentored by Bold in the early 2010’s, Bodikhuu’s sound exudes elements of escapism. His albums ‘Bodianova’ and ‘Tokyo’ express a desire to find reprise in bigger, bustling cities of the world, namely Rio de Jainero or Tokyo.

Hip-hop offers fascinating insights into the role of contemporary artists in preserving customs integral to Mongolian national identity. Revitalising traditional instruments, throat singing, and ancient long songs, Black Rose and Quiza significantly contribute to the rejuvenation of these time-honoured traditions. A traditional long song singer, Bayarmagnai, and shamanic performer, Zorigbaatar, feature in Mongolian Bling. Bayarmagnai says that rap lyrics can be found in Mongolian folk art and literature. As noted by Bayarmagnai, rap lyrics and rhyming are customary of many long songs. Similarly, Zorigbaatar mentions that the sudden and animalistic dance movements of hip-hop performers are like those of Mongolian shamans. The compatibility between hip-hop and folk music and dance may have made it easily digestible for the newly uncensored Mongolia, which may be one reason for such a prolific and continued cannon of Mongolian hip-hop celebrating traditional musical instruments, whilst also striving for innovative sounds.

Today, Ulaanbaatar’s music scene is alive and well. There are 10 record stores and 13 music bars within a five-kilometre radius in Ulaanbaatar. Additionally, Playtime Festival, which occurs annually the weekend before Naadam, has drawn over 100,000 attendees since its establishment 16 years ago (when the population of Mongolia is only 3.4 million). Attending this festival, I was astonished by its sheer size as well as the number of Mongolian artists performing.

Hip-hop became a medium of protest for young people following the fall of communism. Deconstructing the messaging of Mongolian hip-hop provides social commentary on inequality, corruption and urbanisation. The genre itself is a direct reaction to Mongolia opening to foreign influence during the 1990s, creating a sound basis for Mongolia’s flourishing music scene today.

Author: Ruby Crandell, Honours student and part of the ANU’s Modern Mongolia course from 2024.