Few pop stars ricochet between personas as quickly as Miley Cyrus. Somehow still only 26, the country-hip-hop-Disney-hybrid star seems to have lived nine lives, both as herself and as a revolving door of characters. She began her career with a meta-commentary on pop fame in the 00s tween TV show Hannah Montana, playing a schoolgirl with a secret pop career. In a forthcoming Black Mirror episode, she once again plays a pop star – this time caught in the seemingly darker throes of the music industry, while simultaneously living out her own public metamorphosis. But with the release of her new EP, She Is Coming, Cyrus seems keen to remind her audience of the real identity behind the facade.

It’s a refreshing blast of six breezy, rock and trap-inflected pop songs, a pleasingly nuanced effort from an artist whose recent releases have each felt like they came from a different archetype. There was the “ratchet”, hypersexualised 2013 album Bangerz, a patchy clutch of R&B party jams for which Cyrus was criticised for borrowing heavily from black culture. Then there was the straight-to-Soundcloud, psychedelic stoner opus, Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz. And then, in 2017, an apologetic U-turn back to her country roots with Younger Now – an album that saw a long-haired and makeup-free Cyrus abandon the cultural markers of hip-hop she had previously leant on.

Cyrus has always been an engaging performer with a soul-filled voice, but this genre tourism left a bad taste. But with She Is Coming, she has a confident grasp on all of her influences. No longer a pop princess frolicking virginally in a white dress, nor a provocateur writhing naked on a construction site, this Cyrus seems to feel comfortable owning the many different sides of herself without resorting to extreme stereotypes.

Some of those sides are ridiculously fun. “I’m nasty, I’m evil,” she declares on the full-chested chorus of the opening track, Mother’s Daughter; “I’m nasty, so nasty” she growls again, on the vogue-influenced Cattitude. The latter – a stomper featuring RuPaul that includes the deliciously catty line “I love you Nicki, but I listen to Cardi” – is an EP highlight, embracing Cyrus’s party-girl side with a dash more self-awareness than she had in the Bangerz era. On the comedown ballad Unholy, she sings about having sex next to empty takeaway containers, but does so with a gentle, raspy twang that makes it sound almost wholesome.

As well as blending her wilder imagery with her pop identity, Cyrus also fuses her various sonic influences. On Party Up the Street, she duets sweetly with Rae Sremmurd’s Swae Lee in a melodious ode to house parties that combines sparse synth production and strings that could have been lifted from the Younger Now era. The Most feels like the big sister of her 2009 ballad The Climb, showcasing the best of her angst-ridden country vocals.

There are still contrived moments, as if Cyrus is rifling through a dressing up box and trying on different hats – such as her jarring “swish swish, motherfucker” towards the end of Mother’s Daughter. But on the whole, her adoption of these different registers is more carefree than in the past. Rather than seeking a new identity to disappear into, this Cyrus is playful, tongue-in-cheek, and, most importantly, making some of the best pop songs she has made in years.