by Eugene Chadbourne 　　A sad day indeed for Schmendrick McFendrick, noted critic, when he screwed up in the "gagged and bound" test, mistaking Ray Conniff for Ennio Morricone. It wasn't as bad as Charles Mingus thinking Davey Schildkraut was Charlie Parker, but unlike Mingus, the critic had no music of his own to fall back on when the populace at large began ridiculing his opinions. The truth is, "Besame Mucho" opens with a combination of twangy electric guitars and trombones that Morricone might have let them put his name on, especially if it meant time to grab a cigarette. Conniff's Latin touch, like the Italian soundtrack master's genre pastiches, represent at times the barest ash of an idea, flicked quickly like someone signaling an oncoming train. The Conniff chorus, not orchestra, is where a touch is likely to become deadly, his female squadron intoning wordless syllables as they drag swimmers down to a depth where breathing will never be the same again. "Deep Purple" wears well out of a more subtle blend of voices and instruments, something whomever wrote the liner notes brags about as being Conniff's forté. True or not, a surprising element is the extent to which some of the tracks swing, although not in a Latin way. In some ways, the closest thing to Latin on this record might be the sudden intrusion of a strummed harp midway through "Say It with Music," bringing to mind the pillaging of Carthage by the Romans. "Summertime" has a loose exuberance associated with New Orleans jazz, while "Night and Day" rustles calendar pages jauntily until the choir comes along and pukes. "Temptation" fits a long melody out of both instruments and voices to a point inducing queasiness; better to concentrate on the percussionist's brushes.