The song's whole ambition is small: the moment a day changes temperature. Morning light through the blinds, a window opened a few inches, a familiar record going round. Archer isn't announcing that everything is going to be fine. He's noting that something has shifted in the room, that a little hope has slipped in with the draught. It's a modest premise, and modesty is what gives the song its charm. The one line the label has chosen to quote, "A little hope, a little change — and suddenly I'm here again," might be the most honest summary of recovery anyone has put in a chorus this year. It promises nothing grand, only a small change and the surprise of finding yourself upright.

The arrangement takes the same view. The bass is warm and round, the sort that seems to have been sitting in the sun. The drums have the organic give of a human wrist, and the guitar leans towards the soulful side of the neck, offering colour rather than heroics. Together they lay down a contemporary groove that never hurries, and the hook arrives early and stays put without any elbowing. It's alternative R&B with the sharp edges sanded down, closer to a hand on the shoulder than a hand in the air.

The influences are worn lightly. Motown warmth glows at the edges, a smear of psychedelic guitar drifts through, and a little indie-funk twitch keeps the rhythm section from getting too comfortable. None of it tips into pastiche. The trick, and it's a hard one, is to sound timeless without sounding retro, to borrow the glow of the old records without also borrowing their dust. Plenty of soul revivalists spend careers failing at exactly this. Archer, at least on this evidence, mostly avoids the trap.

Then there's the matter of who Archer is, or rather what. The label is admirably upfront that he's an AI persona, with lyrics, composition and audio created with AI assistance. Some listeners will treat that as a verdict before the first chorus has finished. Fair enough, though the song makes a decent case for judging it on what comes out of the speakers. A track about small human consolations, made without a human throat, is either a delicious irony or a faintly unsettling one, depending on your temperament and your second pint. What can be said is that the warmth here is convincingly built, and the restraint, which is the hardest thing to fake, is fully intact.

The artwork tells the same story: a monochrome painted interior, an open door, daylight pouring across the floor. It's a literal image of the title, but literalism suits a song this unfussy. The album promises a wider tour through neo-soul, vintage tints and indie-funk energy, and this single works as a sound-checked front door to it.

"Where The Light Comes In" won't rearrange your furniture. It might, however, get you to open a window. On a grey Monday, that's plenty.