June Vinette definitely has one of the strangest, most distinctive voices I’ve heard in recent memory. It’s irrepressibly shrill and warbly, an effeminate warcry that somehow reminds me of both Yoko Ono and Babyxsosa; when shout-singing in Haitian Creole over the whiplash of metals and electronics on “TV” and “V-I-N-E-T-T-E,” he reminds me of Karen O kicking shit all over Fever to Tell. It’s funny how far confidence and conviction can go—Vinette’s voice is harsh to the point that I understand why someone would press play on B0YG1RL by BOYG1RL and immediately think, “What the fuck?” Good thing I’m not that kinda person.

They say the devil works hard, but I swear B0YG1RL are tryna outdo his ass. In the handful of months that have passed since the experimental dance duo dropped their breakout record, EXIT 2B, they’ve barely sat still. Every day, it seems, a new video appears on their IG recapping strobelit shows in Toronto and Prague, Paris and L.A., San Francisco and Mexico City. They’ve opened for underscores and Six Sex in their hometown of Miami and performed in New York enough times to be able to try out the housing lottery. How they’ve been able to piece together their fourth(?!) project this year that continues to push their sound forward, I have no clue.

Usually it’s more annoying than charming when an emerging act dubs itself the “new wave,” but I’ll let B0YG1RL pop it for a little while longer. June Vinette and songwriter and visual director Angela Rio’s new self-titled album proves their ingenuity is no fluke: Fiendish, galloping bouyon lives next to muscular electroclash, sludgy cumbia with unnerving synth-pop; batshit songs about love meld into batshit songs about lust and vice versa. Sure, their last album was equally rooted in caprice and digital globetrotting, but there’s an anxiety built into B0YG1RL that wasn’t there before. “new wave*” feels freakishly claustrophobic without sacrificing danceability. The ETRA-produced track is as nauseous and cavernous as B0YG1RL has ever sounded: drums thrash, shuffle, and stutter; synths peal and fizzle; dainty choral melodies wade beneath Vinette’s hulking shriek. “Right here, right now, I hope it takes me in,” he says, personifying their new wave as one that’s scarily imposing and slyly coercive. “Let’s be free of all our sins… It’s gonna take you in. I hope it takes you in.”

There’s a thread of desperation here that’s in tension with B0YG1RL’s no-holds-barred thrillseeking. “Hope you touch me, I hope you feel so entitled,” Vinette pleads over the prickly synthplay of “Show Me,” so wrapped up in desire that he sounds exasperated. “Reality” and “Angel” are the album’s dramatic bookends, playing with synths loud enough to knock Anthony Gonzalez upside the head. “I saw an angel/And it hurt,” Vinette cries on the latter, and I believe him. With help from producers like prblm, Trauma, amne, and DJ Travella, B0YG1RL feels like the work of two twentysomethings soundtracking their glitzy new lives in real time, less focused on finding direction than they are with sensationalizing their biggest, harshest feelings.

To the album’s detriment, the near-incessant shifts in pace, tone, and texture make their lack of a crystallized vision too noticeable. “Follow Me,” an enjoyably cybernetic piece of cumbia, feels like an assertion of versatility rather than a cohesive addition to the whole. Pure impulse and adrenaline have taken B0YG1RL this far, and it’s paid off, but it’s frustrating when some potentially great moments don’t get space to breathe. Smack in the middle of a wavy jackzebra feature on “TV,” the icy, contemplative standout is broken up by a cheesy festival EDM build. The slinky baile funk of “V-I-N-E-T-T-E” slips in a dated trap beat that reminds me too much of 2017.

Up until the more self-effacing, melancholic suite at the end (I love the beautifully squelching pop-rock of “Gazée”; its punchy drumbeat and playful hook brings me back to hearing P!NK on the radio), this record jumps around a bit too much for its own good. Does that make any of B0YG1RL’s peaks any less exciting? Hell nah. Let someone play the deathly fierce rhythms of “Mond Lan Fini” at a function with enough Cutwater and I might headbutt an SUV.