I'll admit it. I've long believed whoever invented the concept (for lack of a non-blasphemous term) of Christmas music must have fallen out of the same genealogical evergreen as the blisteringly-bullish creator of underwire bras, cod liver oil, and decaffeinated coffee. Oh and judging by those plastic, write-by-numbers, musical equivalent of those velvet poker playing pooches, the inventor of those "holiday classics" must have been in a mood so foul that it could only have been borne out of yanking pinecones and especially pointy pine needles from bodily nooks and crevices not designed to harbor said natural defoliants. To clarify: Me plus that corny Christmas cacophony=bah humbug.

That was before I popped Mindy Smith's "My Holiday" in the CD player, and waited for the traditional ear bleeding, bile brewing Yule tunes such as Hork The Harold Angels Sling the Gory Beats---or some unreasonable facsimiles thereof. I couldn't have been more wrong if I'd left a glass of whole milk and sugar cookies out for a lactose-intolerant, diabetic Santa.

Smith, with a lyrical sincerity that's free of that over-the-top tacky tinsel overkill, and a sarcasm-softening translucent voice, effortlessly delivers songs you wouldn't be embarrassed to tune into any time of year. Sure there are the perennially geographically-challenged shepherds (forget the Star of Bethlehem--- these traveling dudes may have fared better with OnStar) as in "Follow the Shepherd Home", and the annual single person's desperation prompted by everyone's Aunt Hilda's seasonal prodding "What are you doing New Year's Eve".

But Smith, with an unsettling but totally irresistible vocal combination of "O Come All Ye Faithful" and "Come Hither", manages to make even the weathered and withered traditional carols seem as fresh as Christmas morning snow---and not the snow-globe, made-in-Malaysia kind of white stuff either (nor the nose-snow, smuggled-in-from-Malaysia kind of white stuff either).

Nice touches by Allison Krauss and Chely Wright here, but make no mistake; this is Ms. Smith's show---which isn't to say she's showy. There's a quiet confidence in her voice that runs from Disney-princess-measured- animation (with a pixie-dust sprinkling of Jewel) to flower-power, unrestrained Linda Rostadt folksiness (circa Stone Ponies--- yes Virginia, there are musical miracles on mom's and pop's vintage vinyl).

Even if you're not of the religious, cultural or consumer orientation that happily embraces or simply endures Christmas or related holidays, "My Holiday", deserves a fair shot at becoming "YOUR Holiday" CD, if only to wallow in Smith's hot-toddy smooth and soothing vocals and Bryan Sutton's percolating acoustic guitar (especially in the title cut).

With nearly half of the cuts here written or co-written by Smith, the future for this musical messiah-in-waiting appears brighter than a few miles' worth of stringed Christmas lights.

Even before sneaking a peek at (to shamelessly stretch this holiday analogy even further) this musical gift's wrapping (AKA liner notes/press kit innards), something in the presentation and delivery of "My Holiday" rang familiar, a warm and welcome kind of familiar. Sure enough. Smith collaborated on this, her third effort for Vanguard, with veteran producer Steve Buckingham, who's shared his significant skills with the embarrassingly-talented Mary Chapin Carpenter.

One grumpy checkmark in the Naughty Column however:

For my tastes, it's a little heavy on the steel guitar twang on "Silver Bells"---not all that shocking considering it was recorded in Nashville. But that twang gripe is like saying the peppermint patties stacked on the otherwise architecturally and gastronomically immaculate gingerbread house should have been dipped in dark, rather than milk, chocolate; in other words: quibbling for the sake of quibbling, and entirely uncalled for, especially at this time of year, right?