The Bedstars are very Chinese, very Beijing. Wet Hearts & Dry Vomit is the definitive epistle the Church of Joyside has been missing, even though its converts have been singing it for years. It’s not all rock’n’roll revivalism, either. Vocalist Zhao Kai’s lyrics explicitly draw from the potent mix of blood, sweat, and seed that colored the writing of proto-surrealist cynic Arthur Rimbaud. Zhao Kai, like Tom Verlaine before him, draws from the French prodigy’s poetic discourse on sexual and visceral abandon to add murkychiaroscuro shades behind the ostensibly carefree facade presented by him and his bandmates. Wet Hearts & Dry Vomit, nearly five years in the making, is a milestone not only for The Bedstars, but for an entire tribe that has sprung up around them and other bands with a similar Beijing-gutter-centric worldview. Like ’77 New York, like so many music tribes in so many cultural niches across the 20th century, it’s about the rejection of a socially mandated norm and the piecemeal construction of an alternative, stuck together with rusted safety pins and crooked Germs patches, foreign bricks glued with hutong mortar. Regardless of what it sounds like, with Wet Hearts & Dry Vomit the Bedstars have constructed a scene whose vitality in 2015 rivals that of any city in the world.