Although a jazz musician by instinct, Bill Wells's reputation as a musical polymath has seen the self-taught multi-instrumentalist collaborate with a Who's Who of Scottish indie stars over the years, from The Pastels to Isobel Campbell.

But he found a particularly rich seam to mine when he locked horns with former Arab Strap frontman Aidan Moffat in 2011.

Together they put Moffat's acid-tongued spoken-word reflections on life, love, sex and ageing into a suite of compositions which framed the words beautifully and drew on a wide range of musical influences, from Steve Reich-style minimalism to free jazz and piano balladry. It was a match made in Falkirk rather than heaven - both men hail from the town - but it was deemed celestial enough to win the inaugural Scottish Album Of The Year award in 2012.

Four years on, and they're back with a follow-up. Its title comes from the IKEA slogan Moffat sees on a passing lorry on opener On The Motorway but its overarching theme is the city, particularly its nocturnal pleasures. Adding orchestral lustre to it all is a roster of guest musicians, among them the Cairn Quartet; Glasgow's Glad Cafe Community Choir; saxophone, trumpet and tuba players John Burgess, Robert Henderson and Danielle Price; and viola player Aby Vulliamy, also a member of Wells's National Jazz Trio of Scotland.

The first thing to say is that some canny theatre director would do well to snap this up and turn it into a stage production. It wouldn't need much fleshing out: it's already pretty dramatic thanks to the vivid arrangements and Moffat's noirish word-pictures. Street Pastor Colloquy 3AM, for instance, hymns the late-night city haunts its narrator knows only too well, while Lock Up Your Lambs is a devilish incantation delivered through what sounds like a bullhorn as Wells and his musical helpmates set up a squawking jazz rumble. "Throw booze on the fire and raise him up" goes the insistent refrain. It's Bertolt Brecht-meets-Tom Waits-meets-Tam O'Shanter.

The bullhorn trick is wheeled out again on This Dark Desire while the bossa-flavoured Any Other Mirror finds Moffat musing on his domestic set-up - "Let's let the dishes sit there and forget the filthy high chair" - before confronting his own physical decrepitude in the song's sweet-hearted conceit: "I feel awkward, fat and grey," he croons, "in any other mirror but you."

There's tenderness elsewhere too, on Far From You and The Tangle Of Us, though things take a turn for the brooding on The Eleven Year Glitch, a tale of moral, spiritual and emotional dissolution set to an icy, pulsing electro backing. Meanwhile on closing track We're Still Here it's urban rather than physical ruin that Moffat tackles as he runs through the roll call of dead shops in "the street that ran out of charity". Meanwhile the same car indicator sound that opened On The Motorway ticks away in the background, bringing us full circle. A mature and intriguing offering from a creative match-up which still has much to offer.