The Triggers are the kings and queens of dirt melody. They sound so sloppy and catchy at the same time. I’m a sucker for dual male/female vocals and for ripped-jean, piss-your-pants-and-continue-your-conversation-like-nothing-happened, alcoholic punk, and it’s hard to find a finer specimen than the Triggers. They’re the Avengers if the Avengers were more crumpled, surly, nihilistic, and toured in a shitty van with a muffler holding on by a guitar string. Spits: It’s too soon to put it in cement, but the Spits have the Ramones-height ability to make songs seem too simple, too easy to do, and are played in a way that’s obviously as heart-felt. Gloriously retarded and ill at ease. Even at their more fungal (the first track) and noise loopy synthesizery (the second one), I’m willing to follow them down many a dark alley and hear what they stumble over and kick back at. Not for geniuses or people who beat off to complexity, just a damn fine band.