It's hard to think of any artist with a more restless spirit than Marvin Tate. Since becoming Chicago's slam poetry champion in 1990, his creative journey has taken him from the stage to the airwaves, from televised performances to tours of Europe. But as far as Tate has pushed himself and his work, he's always kept ties to the West Side Chicago community where he came from. In addition to working with local musicians such as Hunter Diamond, Sharon Udoh, and Mike Reed's group The Separatist Party, he spends his days working as an artist-in-residence at Theatre Y in his childhood neighborhood of North Lawndale.

One of the joys of living in Chicago is being able to witness such storied individuals performing in coffee shops and small venues, and when I look back at the times I've gotten to see Tate perform, the first thing that comes to mind is a showcase Tate did as part of that very same Theatre Y residency. In between puppetry and dance performances, all strung together with a loose, almost improvisatory sense of grace, Tate sat down at a dusty old piano and played it. Even with no experience playing piano, he was so creatively charged that there seemed to be electricity coming through his fingers, rendering his every move deeply compelling. Today, Tate stands as perhaps the living, breathing embodiment of Chicago artistry, a deeply unpretentious polymath who creates as an affirmation of life and is open to working with anybody as long as they can push him forward.

Tate's recent work has been marked by explosive performances, and even after decades of performing he remains one of the most commanding presences in Chicago's music scene. But his work has always been every bit as defined by soul-searching introspection as it is restless creativity. This latest release, Controlled Burn, was assembled from hours of sessions with LeRoy Bach (Theaster Gates, Wilco, Official Claire, Dan Bitney), his collaborator of thirty-plus years. Spanning 12 tracks in less than 28 minutes, the album has a patchwork structure reminiscent of J Dilla's Donuts, where the individual tracks come in, say what they need to say, and move on to the next idea, with the full scope of the work becoming apparent when listened to as a whole. But musically, the album is a testament to Tate's versatility and relentless willingness to challenge himself.

Controlled Burn begins in an ethereal, almost shoegaze-esque haze, with a guitar pedal sound that reminds me of the echoes of cathedral bells I used to hear in my neighborhood growing up. Tate's powerful, distinctively raspy voice sounds as if it's floating in the ether, watching the world turn from a distance. The sonic palette of the album ranges from similarly shimmering and exploratory ambient sounds to darker, more industrial inflected tracks, but all of these sounds come together in a murky musical stew, never relieving its jam-session-like structure. Tate gives his most spirited performance on “First You Hear," elevated by a masterful assist from drummer Quin Kirchner. Howling “do your thang, do your thang!" over a beautifully dubbed out instrumental arranged by Bach, simultaneously frenetic and hazy, Tate stutters and sputters every line with maximum intensity. “Everybody's good at something, but there are certain people who are ingenious when it comes to creating the life they want," he says, and that description could easily apply to Tate himself. “I Was Hoping (Love Bass)" has a fittingly beautiful and murky bassline, ending abruptly with a line that encapsulates the emotional core of the album: “If love is the answer then why are we still asking the same questions?" The answer (or the question, in this instance) is unclear, but as always, Marvin Tate finds endless meaning in its entanglement.

- Levi Dayan, 2026