Usually with independent recordings, truly independent—I recorded this in my spare time with my life savings—indie albums, the product tends to outstrip the packaging, but this Raceland guitarist’s latest goes the opposite route.

He’s on a Christian label, he’s given the album a title that sounds like he’s about to drop some deep philosophical bars, and he’s got a stunning cover image to match, but the disc within bears no relation to any of that. It’s a fairly standard half hour of West Louisiana roots rock, one hampered significantly by performances that unfortunately set the bar just above amateurish.

Ditto on the songwriting, sadly. An oddly catchy emotional travelogue that roughly describes the setting of “True Detective” should have more to say about relationships than “Why don’t you come out in the desert / With me tonight.”

It should at least rhyme. (We’ll be kind and assume lines like “I turn and call her a bitch” and “She knows that I ain’t queer” are in some sort of character.)

Likewise, when Hitt’s voice goes noticeably off-key (even when sweetened and double-tracked), or his leads wander, or the drummer drops a beat…

Well, those flubs would make sense for an iconoclast with a skewed vision, but “Perfection” is ironic in aiming for polished mediocrity.

It’s got a long way to go before it works its way there.