It’s been said that this band of Black brothers from Detroit anticipated punk, but it’s also worth emphasizing that David, Bobby, and Dannis Hackney were making a valiant effort at reclaiming hard rock from an increasingly segregated industry retreating towards a whitewashed AOR canon. In any case, this EP’s worth of scraps from an unfinished, sadly aborted mid ’70s effort at winning over a skeptical Clive Davis is just singularly strange in a way that only the best genre-agnostic Detroiters can really be. Maybe there’s some “I have seen the future and it is the Ramones” prescience in the hyperspeed attacks of “Rock-N-Roll Victim,” “You’re a Prisoner,” and “Where Do We Go From Here???” But without the pretense of being an oppositional force to mainstream arena rock — the Hackneys were more enthused than repelled by the big-ticket likes of The Who and Alice Cooper — Death’s sound hit on something just as inspired, a DIY version of dirtbag Camaro rock that narrowed the gap between the garage and the stadium.