Although the Strokes are of the same era as once-flashpoint NYC guitar bands like Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Interpol, the National, and the Walkmen, they’ve become something their peers haven’t: classic rock. Tumble down enough comment threads, or check out the audience demographics at their infrequent shows—there are many listeners who idolize the Strokes as an actual first-generation 21st century NYC cool band, something like the aging, disheveled downtown '70s and '80s hipsters the band idolized in their youth. Becoming classic rock means a band can recycle their iconography without losing their edge, as far as casual and younger listeners are concerned. (Officially, the Strokes began their slow journey toward oldies stations when Shia LaBeouf wore their shirt in Transformers.)

It also means, weirdly, that they’re no longer expected to be good. A bad record wouldn’t diminish the enduring power of singles like “Last Nite.” In 2014, I met a person who said the Strokes were their favorite band. When I asked how they liked 2013’s Comedown Machine, the answer was “What’s that?” So it ends up being sort of nice that Future Present Past, their first new release in three years and first EP since 2001’s scene-starting The Modern Age, is only so long as an EP. On 2011's Angles and Comedown Machine, there was too much going on—and, quite simply, too much. Here, there’s just enough to think about without getting fatigued, as the Strokes continue to toy with the sound of their late period. The concept is present in the title: Here’s what the Strokes do sound like, here’s what they did sound like, and here’s what they will sound like.

The signposts of that classic “Strokes” sound are visible on “OBLIVIUS,” the EP’s immediate stand out: a guitar that sounds like a synth (but isn’t), intertwined with a guitar that sounds like a guitar (and is), backed by precise percussion and knitted together by Julian Casablancas’ bleary, strained voice. There are lyrics about alienation, a maybe semi-intentional, faux-deep *Wolf of Wall Street *ad lib, and a straining chorus vocal that cannot possibly have been delivered by someone who’s smoked as many cigarettes as Casablancas. (There’s also a remix from the band’s Fab Moretti, which is totally listenable.) “What side are you standing on?” Casablancas sings, which sounds like a challenge to anyone who might pretend the band hasn’t earned its right to screw around.

The benefits of screwing around, of course, could be challenged. “Drag Queen” is the so-called “future”—a more self-consciously “mature” song that opens with a ominous, decayed smear of guitars and continues with the high-concept of Casablancas singing to himself in dueling voices, sort of sounding like a hungover Phantom of the Opera. Halfway through, a Strokes-sian guitar refrain is copy-and-pasted into the flow. It’s a mess, but it’s an interesting mess. “Threat of Joy,” meanwhile, stretches all the way to their pre-fame days, when they sounded just bored and arrogant enough to be sexy. It’s an alternative universe take on what “The Modern Age” might have sounded like if they’d taken a record executive’s advice to slow it down, get a better studio, and play it straight. It’s not as good, of course, but it’s still charming, and has Casablancas’ most charismatic vocal performance.

At the very least, all three songs will fit seamlessly into their live show. In 2015, I saw the Strokes play a headlining set at Primavera Sound for a rabid crowd who ate up every song, even “Machu Picchu.” The band was just as well-dressed than they’d been in the early ’00s (except for Casablancas, who was cosplaying as a Planeteer, but hey, it’s a look), and they didn’t miss a note, even as I don’t think a single member came within ten feet of another during the entire set. They didn’t play “12:51” at 12:51 a.m., because fuck coincidences. A credible source told me their fee for the 90-minute set was more than the cost of your dad’s mortgage.

If their solo dalliances in the last half-decade have given weight to the idea that the Strokes are more of a business than a living, breathing band, it's still been fascinating to watch them shed their skin and become whatever it is they'll be for the rest of their career. And with the pivot of Casablancas’ Cult Records to functioning as a gatekeeper for the living, breathing culture that helped birth the band, they seem like a band that’s very aware of their legacy… as well as how easy it would be for that to stop mattering, should the context no longer exist. Maybe they didn’t mean to become iconic, but it happened, and there are still people who want to see what happens next.