* Edition of 100 copies * Two people in a room, and not one moment of merging. That is what makes All I Know In The City remarkable, and it is not a small thing. Potliquor is the duo of pianist Sharon Udoh and turntablist Allen Moore, caught live at Elastic Arts in Chicago on 18 January 2026 and issued by Amalgam, the artist-run Chicago collective and label founded in 2015 by drummer and engineer Bill Harris, who also recorded, mixed and mastered the session. Amalgam has spent a decade documenting the city's avant-garde across free jazz, improvisation, electronics and metal, co-curated since 2020 by cellist Ishmael Ali. This is among the most singular things the label has put its name to.

The two players arrive from opposite ends of the same inheritance. Udoh is a Nigerian-American pianist, improviser and hymnologist who received her first training in the Pentecostal church, where a single hymn or chorus might extend to two hours. She spent years in Columbus, Ohio performing as Counterfeit Madison before relocating to Chicago in 2022, and has since worked with clipping., Tune-Yards, Angel Bat Dawid and Ben LaMar Gay. Moore comes from the village of Robbins, Illinois, a historically Black town just south of the city. He is a visual artist as much as a musician: graphite sits at the centre of his practice, and hand-casting records in graphite - warped mirrors of old soul sides - gave him the material he plays across as many as four turntables at once. Records that are also sculptures. Sound drawn from an object that no longer quite functions as a record.

What happens between them is not accompaniment. Udoh's piano moves with the long, unhurried patience of church time, phrases that circle back on themselves and refuse to resolve on cue. Moore's turntables push in from the side, dragging hymn fragments and snatches of Black American speech through friction and dust. There are no soft unisons, no polite exchanges of space. Surfaces meet and abrade, and the pull you feel is gravitational rather than rhythmic. Four of the five pieces bring in Detroit percussionist Ben Hall on MPC 2000, cymbals and bass percussion, a presence that reads as weather rather than pulse. Hall, who studied trap set with Milford Graves and played on Bill Dixon's final small-group sessions, described the task of entering that space as "a bit like Space eavesdropping on Time."

The resonances run deep here. Hall founded and curates Bap-tizum, the largest digital archive of Black American spiritual music in the world - three musicians, then, whose materials are all salvaged from the same devotional common ground, approached through wax, skin and memory. The album's framing invokes the temporary autonomous zone, and Anthony Braxton's notion of Spacetime as a medium. The band's name says it just as well: potlikker is the broth left in the pot after the greens are cooked down, the part that holds everything the cooking gave up. Improvised music that sounds like nothing else coming out of Chicago right now.