Recorded 2000 - 2002, and picking up from its predecessor "Winter pilgrim arriving" in using mainly tonal compositions, although overall it has a jazzier feel than the earlier recording. After the opening out - and - out Softs tribute "I'm yr huckleberry", complete with monster organ solo and full horn section, the remaining compositions move between the zeuhl - like "Water grid", an amped up version of Nick Drake's "Know", a couple of almost solo saxophone pieces (finally after 35 years of playing it, I record a solo!), the highly abstract "Mall bunnies" where Messiaen meets massive death metal guitar, the atmospheric drone jazz of "Down the road" and "Trash white tonal", and the dub - wise title track. An accessible entry point to the varied Archer sound world.

He finished recording the solo, switched off the organ and wandered out onto the gallery. Like most days, the market was packed with folks picking up bargains for their weekly shop - a crush of bags, kids, cans, fish, mags, cigs. Cheap clothes imitated their pricey cousins on the stall opposite. Next to that, a jumble of bleaches and buckets on hardware. No-one heard of software yet. English commonflowers. Four o'clock on a November afternoon in 1968, the sky-lit roof was dark and as strip lights sputtered and buzzed, he could feel a mains hum deep inside the walls. It caused a low frequency spike on every track, but luckily no-one's speakers would be good enough to hear it. By another stall he saw a kid transfixed, considering model airplane kits, constructing a delicate choice. Buy the ugly one. The different one. The guitarist came out and joined him, brew time. He'd played his last parts as well now. The snack bar was down a level, full of end of day shoppers guzzling tea and toast with their bags squashed in beside. In a few years they'll be consumers. Radio telling the scores just audible over the steam hiss from the big silver percolator. Two nil. Sudden steam dragon, forcing boiling water from the grid of little pipes into the mugs, banged down on formica. That's better. Oh, two Eccles cakes as well please. In America, they call these malls, but they'll be much bigger. And cleaner probably. Yes, wouldn't it be nice to be one of the happy, prosperous shoppers hopping through those bright arcades. Doc Holliday. The minor key ballads of David Crosby. Not like here. But we prefer these cramped walkways and cubicles. I think it's the noise, it reminds you you're alive. The guitarist laughed, rolled a cig. Kid goes past with his mum, clutching his now chosen prize, an unlovable bi-plane. He sees other kids checking the top twenty on the stall across the way, flipping through the big colourful discs in the racks. Chartbusters. Do the Reggae. I'm not sure we could tighten up like that, but we could try.