I’m aware that not everyone shares my enthusiasm for Christmas. I’d also be the first to admit that it can be a tough time for a number of reasons, from seemingly trivial (but all-too-real) family pressures to the push to recognize the passing of time and the things that didn’t go quite right in the year that’s just completed.

Some of my favorite trappings of the Christmas season are my favorites because they acknowledge the melancholy that’s so common alongside the joy we’re supposed to feel. Vince Guaraldi’s soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas, and especially the song “Christmas Time Is Here,” is a perfect example. A beautiful, understated background as Charlie Brown — and the rest of us — tries to reconcile what we think Christmas is supposed to be with his vastly different experiences.

A day or two ago, I found another: The Darkest Night of the Year, by Over The Rhine. I love Over The Rhine anyway, especially after seeing them for the first time at Geneva College last spring. The mix of roots music and complex lyrical themes — for a couple of born-again Christians, Karin Bergquist and Lindford Detweiler ask a lot of interesting questions about religion — is captivating, and really made the show special (as did the curious requirement that Geneva students aren’t allowed to dance at on-campus shows).

Their 11-year-old Christmas record fits them perfectly, and suits my bipolar Christmas moods as well. Half of the songs are originals — a couple of churning instrumentals and others that contemplate the beginning of a dark, cold winter — while the others are traditional carols — no versions of “Sleigh Ride” here — played in a non-traditional manner. The opener, “The First Noel,” is also an instrumental, with a cello slowly working towards the melody over an ominous organ in the background. Two versions of “Silent Night” bring two different twists, one an electric version you might hear the band play at their hometown show in Cincinnati in December, and one a quirky duet sung over a piano — and both with quick dodges into minor keys and other dusty corners. The record is haunting and contemplative — and perfect for my kind of Christmas.