Essie Jain - "Indefinable". If you slow a diamond enough, slow it right down, you begin to see a different glitter: there, beneath the prettty, something sad and beautiful and smelling of coal. On her album Essie Jain seems drawn to both the nice and the weird (both of which can be traps), but here she's found something perfect, flickering, and slow, slow, slow. There's a desolation to the song, a stillness that recalls the earliest (spooky) work of Kathryn Williams, and Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek". Just Jain singing to the mines, tides, a doomed love. It's not those deep cellos that root the song: it's the guitar, uninterrupted, unflinching, inevitable. Breathtaking. [buy]

Cathy Davey - "Sing for your Supper (demo)". One of my favourites of last year, falling just shy of the list posted to StG. How you like it depends entirely on how two things feel against your ears: the folds of Davey's voice, indie-girl cute; and the martial press, the Western Front. It's rare that you hear a song of not-yet-requited love where the power lies with the lover not the beloved (that is, other than stalker songs). But Davey claims strength, conviction and bombast (drums, guitars, her own voice in chorale): "one way or the other / I'll be making eyes at you". You feel like she'd knock down warehouses just for the chance to stand and see you. (Thanks Shane.) [more of Cathy Davey]

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Elsewhere:

With "The Five Magical Sex Acts of Cory Kennedy", The Cold Inclusive continues its series of absurd, mesmerising, almost magic-realist celebrity fan-fiction. It's masterfully written, and very, very funny.

Nick Sylvester (not the biggest Funeral fan) writes something pretty on-the-money about the appeal of Arcade Fire.

Matthew Perpetua talks with Rob Sheffield about mix-tapes, music, zines and blogging. It's fun to read two people talking who clearly just love good songs. But my favourite line is a throw-away that Matthew makes about the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' "Maps": "the vocals are like subtitles". Yes.

Locust St. has a remarkable entry on the last days of Buddy Holly. The prose is spry, evocative, moving. (Unfortunately the rare Holly mp3s aren't half as interesting.) It's these kind of stories (albeit with a few more lies!) that probably make up my favourite kind of writing-about-music. (Thanks to Amy for the tip.)

Please do leave a comment for Eleanor Meredith, our guestblogger earlier this week.