“Omni-directional.” It was this terse response that Brad Laner, sonic virtuoso and Medicine founder, provided when asked to characterize his band’s sixth studio album, “Home Everywhere.” And the man wasn’t lying: deriving influence from Bossa Nova, industrial droning, and harmony-laden folk, Medicine has crafted an album best described as joyous cacophony, impossible to categorize under a single umbrella term. Though upon first listen, the nine individual tracks seem incongruous, even occasionally unpleasant, Medicine’s avant-garde approach to production and song structure is unapologetically itself. “Home Everywhere” is never predictable and always captivating.

Medicine’s capricious musical tendencies mirror the unconventional trajectory of its career. Formed in 1990, the trio of vocalist Beth Thompson, drummer Jim Goodall, and Laner burst onto the alternative music scene with limited success. Merging two tangentially similar, inherently British genres, shoegaze (heavy distortion over barely audible lyrics) and dream pop (breathy, mellifluous vocals), the band divided a fickle American audience. Despite three well-reviewed albums, Medicine disbanded in 1995. However, the original lineup reunited in 2013, releasing “To the Happy Few,” a strong comeback that meshed together the band’s classic ’90s style with a new, clear willingness to take musical risks. Just over a year later, Medicine is back with “Home Everywhere,” exercising similar tactics to captivate die-hard fans and a younger audience alike.

Similar to its last album, the reincarnated Medicine clearly prioritizes instrumentation over vocals or lyrical depth. Thompson’s voice, employed in delicate, lilting coos, is drenched in reverb effects and buried under blistering guitars riffs and relentless metallic clamor. The lyrics, barely decipherable, are often simple, curt and forgettable: the most contemplative line of “It’s All About You” is the trite “I can see through you / And everything that you do.” However, Laner’s sporadic layering of Thompson’s vocals crafts several truly beautiful melodies, which complement the harsh grating of the production well. But Medicine’s strength is not in its vocal talents; it is in the distinct deluge of pure noise dominating every track that elevates the album in both complexity and merit.

Laner never discriminates when choosing what forms of dissonance to weave within Medicine’s repertoire. Indeed, part of the album’s fun is identifying the commonplace noises the band juxtaposes with their melodies: clock alarms, pencil sharpeners, window wiping squeaks and muddy squelches compete with the vocals and gleefully cluttered instrumentation to foster an engaging listening experience. “Turning,” the album’s lead single, couples a pulsing tambourine with smeared, hazy voices. Bolstered by a roaring army of guitars, it is infinitely listenable. A chorus of droning brass instruments and a steady drumbeat consistently interrupt the swirling, summery high of “Cold Life,” yet the two dueling forces work in tandem to create something infectious. And “The Reclaimed Girls” is inherently Medicine: the clamor of pots and pans and shimmering cymbals contends with Thompson’s melodic croons, the entirety of which Laner saturates with distortion. Like the band itself, the track is odd, a bit overwhelming, yet utterly compelling.

With a penchant for padding its songs with a myriad of bizarre sounds, Medicine inevitably creates a few duds. The sauntering “Don’t Be Slow” begins promisingly but eventually descends into the aural equivalent of a pinball machine challenging a buzz-saw to a brawl and losing miserably. It is rare moments like these, in which Medicine’s undeniably unique aesthetic verges on the unlistenable, that instill doubt into even the most ardent fan. Thankfully, the album’s finale compensates for its occasional shortcomings and proves that Medicine’s inventiveness doesn’t exclusively pertain to sound. The concluding title track, “Home Everywhere,” is a rousing, 11-minute amalgamation of genres, melodic allusions, and trippy lyrics (an endless repetition of “Meet me at the rising sun,” for starters). The psychedelic epic, combining Brazilian beats, gorgeous echoing harmonies, and a barrage of abrasive guitars, morphs from a meandering, mellow groove into a plodding industrial march into pure white noise. The song exemplifies how Medicine (and particularly, production mastermind Laner) remains unafraid to experiment with unconventional music structures that could very well scare away a greener, modern audience.

Over 20 years have elapsed between “Home Everywhere” and the group’s critically-acclaimed debut, “Shot Forth Self Living.” Despite this, Medicine’s singular musical identity—a fusion of airy dream pop and unyielding distortion—cements the seminal band in relevancy. In an age where an increasing number of alternative acts eschew innovative, divisive production for a more accessible pop flavor, the band refreshingly refuses to compromise its signature, occasionally strident, sound. With “Home Everywhere,” Medicine remains a panacea for the uniformity plaguing its genre.