The withering, unhealthy family tree of the bonehead, knuckle-dragged sound of Mayyors, A Frames, and Lake of Dracula grows another branch with the first long-player by New York City’s BRANDY. Consisting of components of miscreant avant-trash guitar acts RUNNING and PAMPERS, this new project somehow straddles the line between futuristic and primitive. Rhythmic and repetitive with flashes of late-70s San Francisco post-punk psychedelia, dragging barely recognizable pop hooks through the debris of Mark E. Smith’s scotch glass shatter, the collection of songs march from front to end with a militant step and slurred, anthemic approach. Brandy makes me think it might actually be feasible to continue living and still, somehow, exist in New York. How can something this thuggish fill me with optimism?