Tacky taffy? Like Dimitri Tiomkin soundtracks, the corny, chintzy confection (i.e., stock orchestra and grain-tank reverb) of this curio exceeds kitsch because of the slightly removed and unaffected manner in which it’s received. Not supple, but not unconsidered, a nippy sort of hush prevents these doleful, deadpan duets — between what sounds like a saucy 16-year-old and a 40-year-old truck driver — from becoming something that you can pigeonhole. Hazlewood himself, a checkered semi-star who wrote twanged hits for Duane Eddy, can’t be categorized easily, a virtue that makes him not a genius but a kook — someone for whom fads are a safe haven against the always uncertain future. Only in retrospect can such pap as this be spied as fortuitously parodic. Marginal pluses: “Jackson,” “Lovin’ Feelin’,” and “Some Velvet Morning.”