It might not make sense to say this, but Experimental Dental School’s latest album, Jane Doe Loves Me, sounds like a visual reflex seizure. Listening to the album inevitably conjures up giant, neon images of giant, neon robots shooting giant, neon energy beams at each other over top of an especially giant, incomprehensibly neon, flickering backdrop. It won’t make anyone fall to the floor and jitter uncontrollably, but it might make them want to.

Listeners who can get by that initial urge to become better acquainted with their carpet will find Jane Doe to be a decent, if entirely spastic, noise-pop album with a wealth of ideas and a frustratingly short attention span. Throughout the album’s 12 songs, Experimental Dental School assault listeners with stabbing, schizophrenic guitars, shrieking synths, blaring noise and an endlessly shifting beat. Within this general cacophony, though, the band hides some surprisingly melodic boy-girl vocals that would sound great on a standard pop song if they weren’t singing about starving children, sleeping with ghosts or being a machine.

The formula does produce some truly great moments, but the band’s need to cram as much as possible into every song means the shining parts don’t last long. For a few songs, Jane Doe can be rewarding and invigorating, but over the course of a whole album, the band’s esthetic becomes bewildering. Much like how seizure-prone viewers end up switching off that crazy Japanese cartoon about, ostensibly, flashing lights, listeners will likely reach for something more palatable before Jane Doe leaves them too confused.