TEHRAN, Iran -- "You have to listen to this," says Bahram Bahraini, a cutting-edge record producer in Tehran. He pops a recording in the CD player. A blast of synthesized rock music sweeps out of the huge speakers and electrifies the room. "Isn't this great? It's great!" says Bahraini as he snaps his fingers and begins to jive on the Persian rug, giggling. "This is what the government didn't like. They made us change this part."

"They" are the Council of Music, a unique creation of the 21-year-old Islamic Revolution, which requires written approval before any bar of music is played in public anywhere in Iran. Along with the Council of Poetry, which vets every word of every lyric written, it is housed within the Ministry of Islamic Guidance and Culture. That department is charged with keeping Iran a pure Islamic country, by enforcing a mass of rules and regulations: which books people can read, what music they can hear, which foreigners they can talk to.

Iran, to be sure, is changing dramatically. Reformists won a landslide victory in Friday's parliamentary elections, thanks largely to the millions of Iranians who are far too young to remember the 1979 Islamic revolution.

By Wednesday, with two-thirds of the votes counted, the reformists had won more than 70 percent of the votes, capturing at least 141 of the 195 seats decided so far. Reports show reformers are leading for the 30 outstanding Tehran seats. The remaining 65 seats will be decided in run-offs for the 290-member parliament, or Majlis.

The immensely popular liberal President Muhammad Khatami, who swept into power nearly three years ago, promised to liberalize Iran and ease control by its hard-core Muslim clerics. The landslide victory this week was won by those who backed Khatami's reforms. Even veteran conservatives were kicked out -- in the traditionally conservative city of Mashhad not a single incumbent kept his seat.

About 60 percent of Iran is younger than 25. And while most have a deep attachment to Islam, the stunning vote suggests that they have had enough of the intense scrutiny and control over their lives.

In the days since the election, the new representatives have begun sketching out in interviews their vision for a new Iran. Among their priorities in the new parliament, they say, is to give youth some freedom to live life the way they want.

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For years, young Iranians have chipped away at the prying forces of the government, so that today, there are two pop cultures in the country: official and real.

Officially, Western movies are forbidden. But countless Iranians use a bootleg video-rental service, a huge network. Someone appears at the front door each week with a suitcase containing tapes of the latest Hollywood releases. Iranians in the United States shoot them from their theater seats using small hand-held cameras, then ship the tapes to Tehran, where they are copied in bulk. The sound is muffled and the picture jerks wildly in parts, according to several people I interviewed.

But being current is much more important than quality in a country where the government has spent years trying to seal people off from the corrupting West. "I bet we saw 'Titanic' before you did," one Tehran student boasted to me. "We see movies the week they come out."

Officially, Western rock music is banned, and everyone arriving in Iran is required to present CDs and tapes for inspection. In reality, countless CDs slip through, by mail or by hand, and are instantly copied.

At the hugely popular Iranian concerts held in the United States and Dubai every March to celebrate the Persian new year, performances by forbidden imigri singers are also taped. Within three days, the tapes are blasting from stereos and televisions in living rooms around Tehran, according to those I interviewed.

But the youth who helped oust scores of conservatives this week ought to hear Bahraini's tale of trying to produce a new rock album. It is a tale that demonstrates the religious bureaucracy governing culture is still a force to be reckoned with.

More than four months ago, Bahraini made a master recording of his latest find: a group of friends who had been jamming together in their Tehran home, with a guitar, synthesizer, saxophone and drum set. They had managed to create some fine rock songs, shot through with traditional Persian rhythms and Farsi-language harmonies. It was strikingly different from what was being played in Tehran.

Bahraini snapped up their tape for 8 million Rials -- about $1,000. It was great money for an obscure band that had played only a couple of concerts in the city's government cultural centers. Bahraini, whose Tannin Sote Records produces "new wave and new age" music, has made a name over the past few years for spotting big talent early on.

Then began the struggle. Following the law, Bahraini typed out all the lyrics and made a cassette tape of their music. He dropped the material off at the offices of the Council of Music and the Council of Poetry, and waited weeks for a response. The music council finally sent word: The offending instrument was the saxophone, whose sensual riffs sounded unsettlingly provocative. "They said it was the Western style of playing," said Bahraini, who spoke through an interpreter.

Bahraini returned to the group, which re-recorded some parts. He took the tape back to the council. The saxophone had been tamed. But that only drew fresh attention to the other instruments. "Then they wanted us to change the electric guitar," Bahraini said.

The Council of Poetry was no easier. Bahraini remembers the moment he first played the group's rock songs to them. "The members of the council were shocked," he says. "The style was shocking. It was totally different to what was on the market."

Bahraini says he greatly respects the music council members, whom he describes as a group of skilled players with a sophisticated grasp of their field. The twin poetry and music councils are headed by the creator of Iran's national anthem.

But music is tricky to categorize. So, the council considers two main questions when trying to decide whether a song will undermine the Islamic Republic, says a council official, sitting in his office. "First, any music that's related to the style of the previous regime, when the Shah was in power -- the style before the revolution -- is forbidden," he says. That would rule out much of the music played by Iranians living in the United States. But the second factor is far more important, he says: "If the music makes you want to jump up and dance, it is not acceptable. Even if they are not singing words, if the meaning of the music itself is to make you jump and dance, it cannot be approved."

At 28, Shahkar Binesh Bajooh finds it hard to resist jumping and dancing. He is the drummer in the band Bahraini is trying to produce. Performing publicly, he says, has become a tense experience. "We cannot move our bodies to the music. And this music is hard to stand still with." In addition, he says he dare not wear anything other than a suit when he is on stage. "I just don't want to risk trouble." When I ask whether people in the audience can dance or bop around in their seats, he looks at me, confused, and then busts out laughing. "No, of course not!"

Indeed, just finding a performance venue can be daunting. First bands have to play a tape of their planned concert for the managers of each venue they apply to perform in.

"If one center agrees to let you perform, then the center has to send a letter to the Ministry of Islamic Guidance letting them know," says Binesh Bajooh, a reed-thin man in dungarees. Next, the musicians take a cassette to the ministry "and submit a photograph of every band member. We also have to submit all the words to the Council of Poetry. Then we wait for their permission."

The government's decision can take weeks -- or days. "It's totally unpredictable," says Binesh Bajooh. Approval sometimes comes a few days before the performance date, making it impossible to advertise the concert. Two years ago, the staff at one venue canceled Binesh Bajooh's three-night gig after one performance, fearing trouble from conservatives. "We had already sold tickets for the other nights, and we'd rented a piano," he says. "It was a big headache."

But life in Iran is changing. And young artists like Binesh Bajooh are beginning to sense the shift. No longer do musicians worry about some of the audience getting arrested by police on their way home for holding hands in the street or for wearing their hair too long. "You don't see these things so much any more," he says. No longer does it take several weeks to get approval for concerts. The process is gently accelerating in some parts of the system, he says. "Everything has become much better since Khatami."

Ahmad Bourghani agrees. He is one of the key members of the reformist Iran Islamic Participation Front, which led last week's winning coalition. The party is headed by the president's younger brother, Muhammad Reza Khatami. "Before," Bourghani said, "we were insisting on getting Islamic approval for everything. But now, it's more based on thinking about whether or not it is against Islam."

Speaking in the makeshift campaign quarters set up by the party in a basement restaurant, Bourghani said the new parliament would push for a hands-off approach to youth culture. Jobs and inflation are more important issues for many voters, but freedom is not far behind, he says. "The most important of all the reforms are those for the youth," he said. "It is the youth who made these elections."

That does not mean the Islamic revolution is over. Far from it. Like every winning candidate, Bourghani says they dare not tread on voters' Islamic sensitivities. "Any government has to consider those beliefs or it will collapse," he says. And so, women will probably continue to wear head scarves, and open touching between men and women will not be welcomed.

The new parliament still faces possible roadblocks. The powerful Guardian Council, a 12-member conservative body appointed by the Iran's clerical leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has the power to veto its reforms. And there is always a chance that conservatives could take on the fight themselves, if the Ayatollah's representatives do not.

But if the new parliament gets its way, unmarried couples might no longer be stopped at roadside checkpoints and arrested, as they have been for years. And rock musicians might be free to play where they like.

Bahraini is still waiting for approval to bring Binesh Bajooh's band to the market. "I'm waiting for the next parliament. This is going to make a big difference."