And yet, seventeen years after his solo debut and over a quarter century since the watershed that was Slanted and Enchanted, we still want more Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. GQ caught up with the seemingly ageless musician to discuss the new album, his role as a “middle elder,” and the thorny issue of representation in the comparatively white world of indie rock.

GQ: I saw that you were into the Wild Wild Country documentary.

Stephen Malkmus: Yeah, any cult thing is gonna be candy. And this one is pretty good, too. You know, it has a soundtrack that sounds like indie rock that’s almost the music they would play. I’m sure it wasn’t as good, although I know they would play trance-y, hypnotic music to “cultify” you, brainwash you. It’s funny, this Rolls Royce thing with cult leaders. It’s interesting the power of the Rolls Royce as the car that God drives or something. I mean, I’ve been such a practical car guy.

What kind of car do you have?

I have a Volkswagen Jetta. A new one. Maybe you know about Dieselgate? When it was in neutral, this little governor would make it seem like there was less spewing out. So anyway, I just took my check to the dealer. I did not mind so much that I had been lied to by Volkswagen. I was from a generation that knows that all these companies are lying and stuff in different ways.

There’s a line on the new album: “Men are scum, I won’t deny,” which feels both timely, given the #MeToo movement, but also like something you might tell your actual daughters. How influential has fatherhood been for you on the new album?

Not too much, I don’t think. I’ve had songs before that talk about people’s self-interest and [laughs] biological imperatives driving to act like assholes. As far as my kids, I just kind of keep them out of this. It’s like “grown-up stuff.” It’s my chance to relate to my cohort more than that age. I mean, I’m into millennials and even Y’s, or whatever. I think that I can give them advice. But I would have to be playing a different kind of music for my daughters to even care, unfortunately. They like Hamilton. Although I think that I could write a couple of the songs from Hamilton. Like the one that the king sings is kind of like a Beatles song. Like, the old white man I could really write. I don’t think I could do the rap that well.

You’ve spoken about having faith in your chops when making Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, while also being afraid—is that debate of fear and self-confidence still present for you and how much did it factor, if at all, into Sparkle Hard?

Not as much. Back then, we came from a “just do your work quietly and don’t sparkle too hard” mentality, or whatever. But now everything is just not a big deal anymore. I feel a little more like a professor or a teacher instead of an actual player. I think that’s just something about getting older. I wouldn’t mind if I could possibly be a Cardi B or something. The music itself is always 1,000-percent joy. But doing interviews, talking about the band, what it means—that’s a whole other game. It’s fun now. In the end, I also want to sell records. I could use some money. That would be nice. I never really talk about that. It’s kind of boring, but we got like four mouths to feed in the band and stuff. [laughs]