Maybe Mars, a record label closely associated with Beijing’s most exciting performance space D-22, recently released a new compilation, simply titled Vol 1. 2007-2009. A comprehensive and energetic chronicle of the Beijing scene’s recent development, the compilation, though representing only one label, possesses enough diversity and talent to give the most novice fan of mainland Chinese music a decent sketch of where the scene currently stands. The album, which comes in a snappy-looking cardboard sleeve, is the portrait of an embattled group of musicians surrounded by an ocean of manufactured Pop, fighting for the cause of genuine, evocative music. An exciting glimpse into a rapidly maturing culture, the compilation illustrates both the strides that rock music has made here recently, and the degree to which, more than ever perhaps, it is informed and shaped by the local avant-garde community.

The first side of the album, however, is dedicated to the more straightforward bands in Beijing’s burbling underground, including the now internationally known Carsick Cars, Joyside and PK-14. Carsick Cars, the scene’s undisputed champion of guitar feedback and no-wave primitivism, is the first to make a solid showing on the album. You Can Listen, You Can Talk, the eponymous title track straight from their recently released LP , is a thumping, low-key drone that stands out by exuding a confidence and forethought that few other songs on the compilation achieve. Joyside, the smoggy city’s veterans of garage rock and one of the genuinely enjoyable bands in Beijing, sadly make one of their last album appearances with Silly Girl, a song title with a storied history (The Rolling Stones, The Rascals and The Descendents all have versions) and an appropriate goodbye from a raggedly straight forward band whose wasted exuberance was elevated by careful study of rock and roll history.  Ourselves Besides Me, more than other band in the album bear the unmistakable downbeat, devil-may-care stamp of the nation’s capital.  Clunking, clanging and listlessly moaning through their song Sunday Girl, the band is quintessentially Beijing— playfully nihilistic and exuding complete indifference to success, failure and most everything else. The soundtrack to a monotonously expanding landscape, the band’s listless, near somnambular approach to rock music perfectly evokes the noisome tinkering of Olympic era Beijing streets, plaintively posing the question, “What’s the point of moving at all if the city will simply move around you?” A damn fine question and one of the albums highlights. As far as completely new sounds go, The Gar’s Lust for Life, a sparkling dollop of psychedelic optimism, is one of the first side’s genuinely sing-along moments, gently reminding us that what has defined the scene in Beijing so far is by no means what will continue to define it in the future.

Importantly, the album’s brooding, dissonant tendencies are frequently contrasted with Punk Bands from around the country, who act as important spiritual and melodic foil. PK-14’s explosive Behind all Ruptures and Demerit’s T.Z. Generation, an anthem celebrating Beijing’s suburb Tong Zhou, (the cheap and musically active alternative to living downtown), keep the album grounded in youthful passion and moving along energetically.

White, the well-established and charismatic leader of the Maybe Mars’ avant-garde stable, opens the album’s second half with 47 Rockets. Recalling not only forbearer Terry Riley, but also David Bowie’s Station to Station and Can’s spacey Future Days, the song’s analog squawk and intently delivered spoken-word calmly balances experimentation with it’s mechanized charisma. Shimmering gracefully through its near six-minutes, 47 Rockets eventually and organically fades into the quixotic ramblings of Xiao He’s MTV Play MTV Play. A scene stalwart whose virtuosic guitar plucking and childlike yelps have been hallmarks of the scene for years, the song, gleeful and exuberant, conjures a remarkably vivid sensation of elevated consciousness. Lasting just under three minutes, the bubbly experimentation is then replaced by dissimilarly straight-faced and masculine Liu Kun’s, singer from Low Wormwood, who performs his stony Three Kingdom's solo.

Following these organic moments courtesy of Maybe Horse (the folk sister label to Maybe Mars) comes a radical shift in tone and one of the album’s great surprises, the virtually unknown Dear Eloise and their electrified, textured Castle. A gentle nod to C-86 bedroom pop that’s instantly evocative of first parties and first kisses, the band’s melodic, sweeping guitar sound and simple hooky vocal deliver might very well make this the best song on the album—and an inadvertent response to the new wave of San Francisco garage bands that are mining similar lo-fi territory.  Hot & Cold, the freak-out brainchild of an 18 year old international school student who recently left Beijing for destinations abroad (Canada, I believe), has their turn next and follows Dear Eloise’s fragile sound with a discordant blast of chaos and noise called Helen’s Interiors, taken from their accomplished debut album released earlier this year.

SMZB, who hold a more esteemed position in Chinese rock history than any other band on the compilation closes the album. The godfathers of punk in Wuhan, Hubei Province and one of the first punk bands anywhere in China (active on the music scene for over ten years), SMZB and its members contribute the anthemic Big Wuhan. More than just great punk music, the song is a triumphantly pounding acknowledgement that Beijing doesn’t produce all the good music here in the middle kingdom.

Though only representative of one label’s catalog, and a portion of the city’s experienced bands, there is a lot of intriguing music on Maybe Mars Vol. 1. More than just the sum of its parts, the album is an important document in the history of Beijing’s rapidly developing musical scene and signals yet another step in the cities dizzying evolution. While the compilation exemplifies shades of sophistication far beyond the level elsewhere thought to exist in modern Beijing, it’s also clear that there is plenty of room for new voices to emerge here. Characterized by somber and generally dissonant music, the record confines itself to a narrow emotional palette and has few genuinely upbeat moments. Considering the almost complete lack of support rock music receive from audiences within China, who could blame them? No matter how thankless of a job it may be it’s clear that the people at Maybe Mars are taking this music seriously and giving it the time and support it needs to flourish; precisely what needs to happen if its going to keep developing at this tremendous speed.