The air is thick with smog, the street is caked in dogshit, and Frank Zappa and Lou Reed are cultural icons. . . One way or another, it didn't take Prague long to reclaim its Bohemian heritage after the collapse of Communism. In place of Lenin, Franz Kafka, mad alchemist King Rudolf and blasphemer Jan Hus have been restored to their rightful position as local heroes.

When the party finally capitulated in Czechoslovakia in 1989, the reverse side of freedom's euphoria was the question, 'What next?' Only yesterday listening to rock (or 'big beat') was a crime against the state; today it is a presidential pastime. Rock might have been a symbol of rebellion under communism, but what does underground resistance mean in a state whose president has proclaimed himself The Velvet Underground's biggest fan?

You don't have to be in Prague long to discover why people call it 'the 51st State'. The faltering local currency has made it a paradise for tourists, Russian mobsters and every no-budget American artist wannabe looking for an affordable location to live out their boho beat dreams.

As a longtime fan of the ultimate Czech underground group, my reason for being in Prague was to catch up on The Plastic People of The Universe. When they were The Primitives, they participated in pre-68 Prague's psychedelic scene, which was active enough back then to warrant a regular column, alongside one coming out of San Francisco, in the New Musical Express. The columns fizzled out shortly after Warsaw Pact tanks ended the Prague Spring. Metamorphosing into The Plastic People Of The Universe, their music grew darker and more depressive. As such it accurately mapped the psychic condition of its beleaguered members, who were subject to constant surveillance, police harassment and even imprisonment. The first few years of the band's history was rife with confusion about its direction.

1973 was a pivotal year for the band. A nucleus formed with bassist/singer/writer Milan Hlavsa, keyboardist Josef Janicek, violinist Jiri Kabes and saxophonist Vratislav Brabenec, also involving surrealist poet Egon Bondy to provide lyrics. Appropriately, it was such cultural pariahs as the Fugs and the Mothers that spurred them to concoct their dour, burdened roars of existential despair, tempered by Brabenec's free jazz stylings. Any over-the-top protest would have been criminal then, so the Plastics became political by virtue of merely existing and crafting their despair-filled musical world with enough satire and absurdity to show that they were self-sustaining.

Also in '73, the band's artistic director Ivan Jirous had also been arrested for skirmishes with the authorities which would escalate in the coming years. Even more crippling was the group's loss of 'professional musical status'- the government made the decision that the Plastics lacked 'artistic merit' and had a 'negative social effect.' This meant a loss of not only funding but any kind of legal authorization to play music in public. For the next 15 years, the band was driven underground, constantly harassed by the police and forced to only perform shows by word-of-mouth at the last moment.

This drama came to a head in 1976 when the police arrested the band and its supporters at a self-organised festival using trumped-up charges. This became such an outrage that a political movement called Charter 77 was formed to support the band, headed by playwright Vaclav Havel. Though band members were eventually released, further harassment continued, driving some of them out of the country over the next few years. This repression also meant that the band's recordings had to be smuggled out to the West to be released years after each record was recorded.

Despite ambitious projects planned by Hlavsa, Brabenec and Havel, the band's activities were severely curtailed, playing their last concert in 1981 and eventually splitting in 1988. One year later the Velvet revolution happened. The Plastic People might have been buddies with the new republic's president, but their old underground status didn't count for much in a cold musical climate now closely controlled by market forces.

Today, however, The Plastic People are part of a wide-ranging music scene, and Prague is once again alive with a real underground. DG-307 are a sister group to The Plastic People, led by painter/sculptor/singer Pavel Zajícek. He has somehow managed to constantly reinvent the group's beautiful Velvets-influenced drone, so it always sounds contemporary. Newer Prague groups include the rapper clowns JAR, the wonderfully wigged out Deep Sweden, Czech shoegazers Ecstasy Of St Theresa and the engaging old school House crew Liquid Harmony.

Meanwhile, the roots-avant singer/violinist Iva Bittová regularly appears at art music festivals at home and abroad. Her sister Ida Keloarova is less well known at home, though she tours incessantly and organises Lilith Fair-type festivals. Playing at Prague's Akropolis Club, she proved to be an impassioned performer of contemporary cabaret. The Akropolis itself is one of a handful of clubs to have survived a city purge following noise complaints. The dearth of small clubs makes it extremely difficult for new groups playing their own material to survive, especially as most venues would rather book covers groups or dance music. If finding somewhere to play is hard enough for homegrown groups, getting airplay is all but impossible. For a while after the revolution, many stations ran adventurous programming policies. But once they were bought up by foreign businesses, they soon started playlisting international pop hits.

The underground might still be in the doldrums, if The Plastic People did not agree recently to President Havel's request for them to play a reunion concert in 1997. They went on to make a triumphant American debut last year, before returning to Europe for a full-blown tour, bringing them back to the States earlier this year.

About their New York experience, Plastic People guitarist Joe Karafiat said, "Here it is much more hectic, you feel the rhythm/pulse of life. New York is less grim and gray than Prague. America is more open. Europe is older, more tradition-minded. Czechs look to the past, they want to go back to the old lifestyle. Just like the Russians."

Despite these depressing observations, the Plastics remain an example of the power and undying, ongoing spirit of music, able to survive even the most repressive armies and governments. We take certain freedoms for granted here in the West but any fascist seeking to censor music here should notice that these Prague heroes prove that it will be an uphill battle.