On penultimate track They Tell Me, Erick Sermon posits that if Mary J Blige and Mariah Carey could stage successful comebacks, then there's no reason why a pair of rap vets cannot do the same. Reunited for the second time, Sermon and rhyme partner Parrish Smith nominally have their sights set on a return to full, Strictly Business-era glory, but in practice their ambitions are far lower: crafting a soundly constructed set that will please whatever's left of their hardcore fan base enough to keep them coming back.

Despite much-storied differences, EPMD's chemistry is undiminished. They trade lines at will and actively operate as a duo throughout We Mean Business. What has disappeared are the jokey asides, inspired redefinitions, and other moments of unpredictability. Erick and Parrish, while aware of their place in the hip hop pantheon, also know that they've been a long time out of the limelight and resting on laurels isn't an option. An understandable sense of worry about their current rap-world standing runs throughout the album, and their old sense of humor suffers. In their single-minded determination to prove they've lost nothing, the two have paradoxically discarded what once set them apart from any old dudes who can spit. EPMD, always a bit workmanlike, are now downright industrious.

When Sermon and his hired guns lay down an uninterrupted succession of firm, steady New York sample-and-chop bangers, the emcees react enthusiastically. With Erick and Parrish settled into fervently conveyed mundanities, the album's choicest lines are delivered by an assortment of guesting East Coast lifers. An always slippery Raekwon blesses tense, terse opener Puttin' Work In, while on Run It, KRS-ONE takes a break from the lecture circuit and academic raps to remind the world that he was one of the first rappers to even think of keeping it gangsta.

Despite EPMD's unrisky aspirations, not quite everything clicks. There's an unneccesary update of the O-Jays' Back Stabbers, and when Erick can't find an appropriate Zapp sample, he invents his own, inviting old-jack talkboxer Teddy Riley to hamfistedly jam along.

It would never even occur to EPMD to overreach, especially not at this point in their careers, but the short run-time and abrupt termination exacerbate a feeling of something slightly less than satisfaction, even as they've concocted the whole album with a mission of sufficiency. Blige and Carey, among others throughout the years, were both able to return to form because they both had that one song that was undeniable. If Erick and Parrish are serious about wanting to return to the big time, they should take note. We'll be waiting for next classic EPMD banger, but not with bated breath.