There has been a lot of backlash from the New York retro rock movement of two years ago, with some citing the similarity of a lot of the bands and the pretentiousness with which they present themselves. The Strokes, being the leaders of the movement and primary targets of this backlash, had a lot to lose with their second album, Room On Fire. After trying to record an album with Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich, the band decided to scrap the sessions and opt for something else. The result is surely a much less pretentious and smarter decision. On Room on Fire, The Strokes spit in the faces of their critics and follow the same mold that made their debut, Is This It, a furious smash.

Though lacking the same level of tension, Room On Fire has the same fuck-off spirit as its predecessor. The lyrics are all basically composed of late night club-speak, drunken ruminations on relationships and a life philosophy that is less about wanting and more about not wanting (almost every single song contains the words “I don’t want” or “I’m not gonna”). They are not metaphorical or very complex, and neither is the music. The Strokes are very straightforward, and that’s what gives them their edge. They don’t want to preach to you or get personal on you, and Julian Casablancas’ distant, distorted vocals convey this.

Room on Fire lacks the instantly addictive qualities of Is This It, which was too exciting an album for its own good. This second album is calmer with more distinctive guitar work, but it doesn’t lose any of The Strokes’ signature elements. The best songs here are not full-force assaults like the gems “Hard to Explain” and “Last Night” from Is This It, but instead they are more melodic and relaxed.

This is evident from the poppy, Cars-inspired first single, “12:51,” which rocks like “Take on Me” after a late night drinking whiskey. Casablancas’ juvenile rule-the-school lyrics—“We could go and get 40s/Fuckin’ go to that party/Oh really, your folks are away now? Alright let’s go, you convinced me.” —are thankfully obscured by his aloof mumbling. The only line that can be very clearly understood is the engaging opener: “Talk to me now I’m older.”

“12:51” is a good Strokes song because it changes style without changing tone. It’s still them, and they’re as much themselves as they ever were. Whatever influences The Strokes may have picked up, they make you feel as though each particular element has always been a part of their own sound, and maybe you just never noticed.

Room On Fire begins with “What Ever Happened?” a song that doesn’t stray far from their earlier material at all, an important key to why this album works. It starts like “Waterloo Sunset” and then the guitars and Casablancas come in with a raw sound that lets you immediately know it’s The Strokes: “I wanna be forgotten/ and I don’t wanna be reminded.” This song, like many others on the album, was written to be played at full blast.

“Reptilia” is more of the same, and seems to indicate a surprise-free record. But this is not the case. The important thing about Room On Fire is that it is not a big enough change to let fans down, but it contains different nuances than Is This It. “Automatic Stop” is the next song and the first example of this. It comes in with a beautiful, simple chord progression reminiscent of “Someday.” The guitar leads are more noticeable, and just as Is This It was a little 1980, “Automatic Stop” and others on this album are a little 1985. Toughness still abounds, however: “I’m not your friend/I never was,” snarls Casablancas.

“Meet Me in the Bathroom” and “The Way It Is” are classic Strokes, with a lot of spitting, kicking and inevitable hoarseness from Casablancas. The rhythm, provided with pounding, hand-bleeding sustenance by drummer Fab Moretti and bassist Nikolai Fraiture, is always the backbone, and melody comes searing through like sun in a storm.

“Between Love & Hate” is a little boring, but it is over before you can really care. The swaggering, reggae-bouncing choruses are promising, but in the end a little slow-moving. The Strokes’ strength is in their ability to rock out, and this song doesn’t quite make it. Besides, “I never needed anybody” is repeated way too many times. It is, however, nice to hear Casablancas adopt some emotion on the spoken line, “Don’t worry about it, honey.”

Two songs on the album stand out as simply great pop songs: “Under Control” and “The End Has No End.” “Under Control” is hands-down the best song on the album, and you can tell this from the opening moment when Casablancas actually croons, “I don’t wanna wa-aste your time.” “Under Control” is probably more pop-y than anything The Strokes set out to make, but good thing for us, they didn’t tamper with it. The chorus, “We were young, darling/ We don’t have no control/ We’re under control,” is almost soulful, and chiming, fuzzy guitars bring warmth.

“The End Has No End” is more sparse and not quite as good, but the pre-chorus is a pretty melody with a “Sweet Child ’O Mine” guitar riff in the background (and who can resist that?). “I Can’t Win” ends the album, and does it the way it should: hard and fast. The rhythm is fast, the riffs are fast, and the vocals are fast. The lyrics are stupid, but we’re not reading poetry here (“We won’t take that shit” is a prominent line in the chorus).

Room On Fire’s only misstep is that it is a little more restrained than it should be. Some of the songs lack the driving force that made Is This It such a rush. But the album is still a complete, fierce, rock ’n roll party record. The Strokes don’t deserve backlash; they deserve credit for cultivating their own sound in an age where singles are the main focus. Room On Fire is so short that it is hard to pick out individual moments, but this is a good thing, because The Strokes don’t create wonderful moments. They create good albums in the spirit of the days when that still mattered.