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Ably filling the Grand Street niche left by the semi-lamented Luxx, Trash proves that rock dives don’t have to be dank, dilapidated holes-in-the-wall. Really loud bands break the sound barrier in a small back room, while up front, girls in ripped fishnets and guys in studded jackets snuggle in cushy car backseats as they wait for their friends' bands to begin. In the spacious front room, license plates and old beer signs hang on the walls and the stink of free, greasy tater tots permeates the air. It's even kind of well-lit. The uniformly-tattooed, college-age patrons couldn't care less. Supercheap late-night happy hour specials ensure no one's making it to class on time tomorrow. — Emily Gould