Once upon a time, the Beatnuts were pretty good. Les and Juju engendered the best and worst of New York hip-hop by typifying the ultra-conventional Pete Rock/DJ Premier approach to production (though their lyrical sensibilities are akin to 2 Live Crew). But where Premo and Rock were like the wise, quiet uncles, the Beatnuts were like the annoying, sleazy cousins who, despite their age, scam on anything and everything with two breasts and a pair of legs.

Even though these cousins are, at worst, debauchery-loving, walking clichés, they nevertheless have their merits. The Beatnuts have no illusions about their place in the wide, wide world of hip-hop posturing, and, in fact, they thrive on dropping “high school rhymes” that owe as much to porn (as well as Funkdoobiest and 2 Live Crew) as they do to party bangers and the NYC school of hip-hop.

Ultimately, however, Milk Me exhibits no progression from the duo’s previous two efforts. The record could have been released in ‘97 (the year Stone Crazy was released), or ‘99 (the same year as Musical Massacre). Those records were tighter—both sonically and lyrically—and as a result, Milk Me just sounds tired. Despite their self-conscious, sometimes hilarious bravado, Les and Juju sound too exhausted to be composing an 18-track record that hardly covers any new ground.

Likewise, Milk’s production lacks the thickness and consistency to be the party record that it wants to be. The horn-ridden tightness of “Hot” and the blazing, futuristic funk of “It’s Nothing” give way to a monotonous sprawl that hinges on minor hooks, restrained bass lines and uneventful samples—in other words, nothing for which the Beatnuts production is known and loved.

And this is the fate of the record: while hip-hop is progressing in a thousand directions, the Nuts sound sterile. Even as a party record, Milk‘s one-dimensional production and sleazy cousin routine only goes so far. “100% Pure Nuts” might seem like a catchy marketing slogan, but the product hardly lives up to its selling point.