John Wesley Coleman III finally calls back at 10:15 p.m. It’s a Sunday, and his phone has been off all day. His label, esteemed Memphis garage purveyor Goner Records, isn’t surprised at his non-responsiveness. “He’s pretty much out of his mind most of the time so you never know,” they say in response to the situation.

Coleman’s a hard man to pin down, and this applies to more than just trying to get in touch with him. On his own, the guitarist of Austin rock outfit the Golden Boys breezes through gloriously trashy garage songs that use comfortable lo-fi fuzz as a vehicle to flit through a multitude of little observations about the world. Sometimes he’s ranting one line about a basketball over and over. Other times he’s detailing a tragicomedy about a girl who did her man wrong and then got thrown in jail.

This loose, freewheeling nature is the greatest asset of his enormously charming records.