Asterisk, No School Credit: Courtesy

(Autumn Records, digital, vinyl)

Greg Davis’ relentless, collaborative output over the past two decades has earned the Burlington avant-garde legend critical acclaim, international gigs and a master’s degree in composition from New England Conservatory. Yet Davis, who owns Autumn Records in Winooski and a record label of the same name, remains as affable as he is accomplished. He’s a regular at shows and a stalwart anchor of the experimental scene in Vermont and the broader music community.

His latest album, No School, released under the moniker Asterisk, isn’t a collection of drones or loops or any of the myriad experimental techniques Davis has explored in his career. It’s something else, entirely: a hip-hop record.

The Asterisk project represents a return to Davis’ roots. His first musical experiments — in high school — involved making hip-hop beats using every tool he could get his hands on. Fast forward to 2024, and Davis came full circle with his proper debut beat tape We’re Gonna Fly Away. It was unambiguously dope shit, a fast-moving tour de force from a producer with eclectic tastes and serious chops. It was also a low-key release that flew under the radar, even locally.

No School, on the other hand, seems destined to make noise. This is a monumental mixtape that weaves together 20 guest artists ranging from new talents to giants of the genre. This guy is tuned in. Perhaps that shouldn’t be a surprise, given that Davis moonlights as a DJ and owns a record store, but I suspect fans of underground rap will be as impressed as I was by Davis’ Rolodex — and taste.

The title is no puzzle. This is art with a mission statement. To wit, this line from the album’s liner notes: “No School is neither old school or new school, it’s somewhere beyond.” After keeping this LP on steady rotation for a week straight, I can only agree. Fans of left-field lyricism will find an embarrassment of riches here. But true to concept, it is impossible to reduce this project to a single subgenre. Even “art rap” is too constricted to do this one justice.

The opening salvo is a roller coaster. The lush banger “We Are One” unites Rhode Island MC Jesse the Tree and Illinois firebrand Monzy the Terrible, both razor-sharp. Freestyle Fellowship luminary Myka 9, for readers unaware, is one of the greatest songwriters and vocal stylists in rap history. Naturally enough, he delivers a dizzying, high-concept head trip with “Double Dream.”

The soundscape shifts again into “Mello,” a jazz-funk clinic from Sleep Sinatra, a prolific rapper whose easy, magnetic flow hails from the frozen plains of Lincoln, Neb. Abruptly, the beat drops down to an urgent whisper for the bluesy “My Worries Don’t Look Like Yours.” It was my first introduction to Jay Cinema and Rail G, and I’m sold. And we’re only five tracks in.

Two threads stitch these wildly diverse sounds together. First, Asterisk is a meticulous sonic architect. Every second counts, and Davis has a gift for working the margins just enough to keep things engaging without ever crowding his mixes. (His transitions and sequencing are outstanding, too.)

Second, all the guests give their all. In a genre where rappers often water down the product for easy feature money, that’s a clear sign of respect.

Which is not to say everyone here is rapping their ass off. There are a lot of flavors on deck. The laconic wordsmith Andrew Mbaruk barely raises his voice on “Cliff Notes (dub),” letting his hilariously convoluted stream of consciousness speak for itself. On “Backseat Buddha,” Video Dave brings such a laid-back, melodic approach you barely notice how diamond-cut his flow patterns are. Paired over a killer fretless bass loop and some slo-mo percussion, it’s an earworm that sneaks up on you and never lets go.

The Asterisk sound is so versatile it’s easy to forget this is all the work of a single producer. “Spines,” which unites New York City rappers Lungs and Hester Valentine, sounds as filthy and raw as anything coming out of the Big Apple’s latest rap renaissance. Chicago prodigy Defcee nearly levitates on “Stigma,” a whirlwind of expertly crafted bars over a jazz loop that bridges the gap between MF Doom and Madlib. “The Under,” which spotlights some smooth Alikho Igama verses, hits like vintage Boards of Canada, pairing huge breaks with even bigger atmospherics.

No School was polished by none other than Willie Green, the house engineer for Backwoodz Studioz. It’s a scrappy New York label that has built one of the finest and most uncompromising catalogs in contemporary hip-hop. Green’s gifted ear elevates every track and keeps this kaleidoscopic set list smooth and bright.

As if to confound lazy critics, the album closes with a triumphant feature from Juice Crew godfather Craig G, who still sounds hungry as hell. It’s a potent single that would work in any era. It’s also proof positive that if he had wanted to, Davis could have easily thrown together a dynamite throwback LP to delight boom bap purists. Instead, we’ve gotten something truly rare, a set that synthesizes his many years of electronic experimentation into a signature sound all his own.

Fortunately for fans of all persuasions, that sound absolutely bangs. Even the weirdest, most low-key compositions are still urgent, funky canvases for great rap performances. No mere side project, No School is an unexpected milestone, both in Davis’ discography and the growth of Vermont’s improbable hip-hop scene.

No School is available on Friday, May 2, on all major streaming platforms. You can buy it on vinyl at gregdavis.bandcamp.com.

This article appears in Apr 30 – May 6, 2025.