Hip hop is not necessarily known for the consistency or longevity of its performers. For every Run-D.M.C. and Ice-T who stays around long enough to pick up a proverbial hip-hop pension, there are a dozen UMCs and Paperboys whose oeuvre consists of one or two insanely catchy songs apiece. EPMD and Gang Starr, on the other hand, have weathered countless changes in the world of hip hop while maintaining their credibility with both critics and audiences. EPMD broke up in 1992, only to reform in 1997 for a tepidly received comeback album, and the duo has teamed up yet again for the depressingly titled Out Of Business, which may or may not be its last album. Since its inception, EPMD has stood above all for no-frills consistency. Wearing mercenary, business-oriented roots on their sleeves—it's no coincidence that all of their album titles contain the word "business"—Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith made their reputation with swaggering, blue-collar odes to money, women, and the duo's own lyrical prowess. And while EPMD's music may not have progressed much in a decade, the solid Out Of Business makes artistic stasis seem like a good career move. The chemistry between Sermon and Smith might not be as fluid as it once was, but the duo is still solid, if unsurprising. Exploring familiar lyrical terrain—dissing wack MCs on "Rap Is Out Of Control" and "The Fan," sticking it to transvestites still oblivious to Sermon and Smith's transvestite-bashing ways on "Jane 6," and chiming in with two different versions of "The Symphony" featuring Redman, Method Man, M.O.P., and Lady Luck—Out Of Business is strong throughout, if never particularly revelatory. Gang Starr was founded shortly after EPMD, but has always been far more ambitious than its New York old-school compatriots. Carefully balancing street credibility and bohemian, college-crowd leanings, Gang Starr walks a fine thematic line between keeping-it-real toughness and thuggish posturing. But for the most part, leader Guru, like Chuck D and Paris, has always retained an air of danger without stooping to tired gangsta cliches. He's often indulged a taste for jazz, and he seems to choose words more for their sonic value than for what they mean, which is sometimes unfortunate: Full Clip's best songs, like "Ex Girl To The Next Girl," "All For The Cash," and "Jazz Thing," are the ones in which Guru seems to have more on his mind than just his lyrical skills. On Full Clip, the group's double-disc greatest-hits/odds-and-ends compilation, Gang Starr makes its case for hip-hop immortality with mixed results. Like Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth, Gang Starr is the rare hip-hop duo whose DJ/producer is as important as its rapper/frontman. DJ Premier has established himself as one of hip hop's most sought-after producers, and if there's one thing Full Clip demonstrates, it's how integral Premier's sophisticated beat work and scratching are to the group's success. Guru's high-pitched, nasal flow tends to grate over the course of 32 songs, but Premier's tracks seldom fail to connect. Full Clip probably won't convert those not already won over to the Gang Starr cause, but for those already enamored of its high-minded hardcore, it's all the Gang Starr you could ever want and more.