I'm actually generally not much into the whole cosmic, karmic, Christ-like profile on a piece of day-old toast kind of headspace. But if the apparition (albeit in my inglorious snowplough-battered mailbox and not by my glorious bedside or even on the aforementioned burned slice of carbohydrate) of Beestings and Broken Hearts doesn't merit some rethinking of the realm of happenstance-coincidence vs. airy-fairy intervention, then I don't know what does. And if you don't agree, well, bad things will happen to you. I'm just saying.

So here goes. I had been looking for---okay, in need of---some new music. Not just the beeboppiddy, roll the car windows down and feel younger than someone who can actually recall a time when doing so meant manually rolling down a knobbed window handle, type of music.

No, the type of music I was looking for had to serve one of two purposes: 1. Spark some motivation 2. Ease my sleep. Since losing my mom to heart failure, my big brother (a gifted musician) to a massive stroke, and almost losing my husband (the real music reviewer in the family) to a heart attack and triple bypass surgery --- all within a year's time --- restful sleep had become but a faint memory, motivation a speck in my life's rear-view mirror. Beestings and Broken Hearts graciously delivered on not one but both counts, namely giving me a good night's sleep and a good kick in the pants (or at least good enough for me to attempt to put pen to paper again following a sleep and creativity drought, and persuade you this CD is worth your consideration and cash).

If stumbling upon the right music at the right time in your life doesn't quite win a karmic gold medal (crystal ball?), then maybe combining that good fortune with an eerily apropos CD title (echoing my own unexpected pain and experience with hearts breaking and/or simply giving out) with its artwork (beautifully rendered sketch of a human heart, aortas and all) might at least qualify for a silver, no?

And as if all this heartbreaking personal and musical parallels stuff wasn't enough, the beestings element threatened to join the cosmic s�ance too: As I was checking Jimson's lyrics online, a hummingbird-sized bumble bee attempted to bust through my office window's screen. Oh, and the liner notes include the phrase "vincit qui se vincit"---my high school alma mater's motto. Hardly Psychic Hotline fodder, but enough to give one pause.

But back to you : My apologies to any lactose intolerant readers because, despite my very best efforts, this review (not to be confused with the CD or its brilliant creator) may well be tagged as not only indulgent but ultra-cheesy (you say camembert, I say calm and bare� let's call the whole thing off �the-charts beautiful�).

Fact is, this is a delectable, eminently-relatable (minus the commercial cutesiness passing for cleverness today) musical outpouring that, well, really does touch the heart. Think Bruce Cockburn coffee house era with a splash of testosterone-laced moody Adele, and well, that's the best I can do without resorting to the marketing gurus' neat and tidy catch-phrase: "If you like xxxxx, or xxxxx, then you'll LOVE this new artist." It's not that Jimson defies definition, it's just that the definition may (at least for some of us) be more of a fluid thing, one that hinges on how, where, why and when you listen to it, track by track or in its entirety.

But this much IS constant: Jimson's soothing, alternately smoky/raspy voice is the ideal vehicle for this material. And I challenge anyone to give this CD a fair listen --- (or as Jimson suggests: "play thrice before listening") and not be moved by the thoughtful symmetry of its wrenching or invigorating words and melodies, its dark yet effervescent tone and themes. Such as?

* "Only Suffering"; Possibly the most addictive cut in this seamless tapestry, there's a nostalgic Beach Boys tinge to this one, complete with a salt-water breeziness and a Sha-Na-Na undertow. Captivating without the usual Hallmark-esque golly-gee-whiz confectioner's sugar-coating (which would have been gag-inducing considering the song's title).

* "Crimes of Ages" (dedicated to Helen R.I.P--- and further proof, as if any was needed, that Jimson understands the layered grieving process), in which he underscores "A soul is not alone when there's a sweet love to give. Rest now knowing how you gave your love and life to them."

* "Beestings and Broken Hearts": "Morning wake from never sleeping, paint a happy face", spoken by someone who's experienced the duality/duplicity of insomnia. Featuring vocals by Jordan Caress and Jimson, the harmonies here intertwine like delicately-aged Belgian lacework, and are delivered with a hypnotic mantra-like effect.

* "Mother Divine": With its aching plea to "Hear my cry", this track envelopes the listener with the familiar worn-flannel warmth of a quilt (okay, the fact that I was wrapped in one of my mom's handmade blankets when I first heard this track may have contributed to that analogy).

But it's "Hold On", featuring the sultry additional vocals of Hannah Prater, and Jimson's stripped down acoustic prowess, and which sounds as though it's dripping succulently from an old Victrola, that really tugs at the heart. This one could easily find a broad audience as movie/TV soundtrack --- if there's any justice (and if you've witnessed the outcome of most "reality" TV music/talent debacles, you're right to question the very notion of justice).

This adult lullaby may indeed be best enjoyed, not with a grande skinny latte with a shot of espresso in a recycled cardboard cup, but rather the old school, stove top-heated whole milk hot chocolate in your fave ceramic mug. And don't skimp on the marshmallows (the campfire monstrosities, not those dinky minis, and certainly never the pastel colored poseurs). Yes, it's THAT rich and velvety.

If (and that's a mighty big IF), Beestings and Broken Hearts' raw lyrical offerings don't help you dissect, reflect on, or divert you from, your own personal trauma or triumphs then the music surely will. Forget the inspired integration here of a glockenspiel, ukulele and bouzouki; Jimson's vocals alone embody a sincerity that lasers in on you whether you're listening to him in traffic, in bed, in despair or in delight�or in denial.