ARE PONTIACS HAVING FUN?

For many musicians and fans, the rock ‘n’ roll life style is synonymous with non-stop partying, romantic nightclubs and hanging out on the scene with the in-crowd. Right?

Wrong. At least that’s not the way the Pontiac Brothers see it.

“People say, ‘Wow! You’re in a band? It must be the greatest thing on earth,’ ” says Pontiac Brothers vocalist Matt Simon, 28. “They think it’s all fun and groupies and you never have to do anything but party 24 hours a day.”

Adds guitarist Ward Dotson, 27, “You can never get around the fact that although this is fun , there’s actually a lot of work involved. It’s a pain writing songs, working out the arrangements, waiting around at sound checks, getting your ears bent out of shape and getting shocked on stage.”

That’s a somewhat somber attitude for a band whose recent album is titled “Fiesta en la Biblioteca” (on Frontier Records). And both on the record and live the three-year-old Pontiac Brothers (Simon, Dotson, bassist Kurt Bauman and drummer David Valdez) prove that they enjoy a party as much as the next guy.

At a typical show the band plays without a set list and throws in a little bit of everything from the Grateful Dead and the Bay City Rollers to their own blend of rave-up speed-metal anthems, early-Stones-ish rockers and disturbingly evocative ballads. Like the late Plimsouls, the band jumps around the pop spectrum but always manages to land on something melodically memorable and full of character. And most importantly, it’s obvious that they’re having fun.

Despite the immediately accessible “Fiesta” record--their second, following 1985’s “Doll Hut”--the Pontiac Brothers are the first to admit they’re not exactly the latest trendy band on the scene. In fact, they are repelled by the simple idea of a scene--in L.A. or Orange County.

“I saw T.S.O.L. in New York once and they were playing in front of 100 people,” says Dotson. “Then the next week they’re playing before 5,000 screaming punk rockers. They’re big in one place. We have no desire to just be big in Orange County or please people in L.A. We don’t have an L.A. cool.”

“We’d probably be a lot bigger if we went to the right parties,” says Simon. “It’s a lot of work to try and get big by making friends, hanging out and getting drunk every night with people.”

If Simon and Dotson sound a bit disillusioned about the reality of rock ‘n’ roll, it may be because they’ve both been around the block a few times. Originally from Buffalo, the pair moved to L.A. in the late ‘70s to get involved with the blossoming music scene. Simon became the drummer for Orange County’s Middle Class while Dotson achieved genuine cult stardom as the original guitarist for the Gun Club.

After both bands broke up, Dotson and Simon teamed up with Valdez and Bauman, two refugees from Pontiac, Mich., hence the band’s name.

“It was an unpleasant experience for me,” says Dotson about his time with the Gun Club. “I didn’t write any of the songs. I played on the record, went on tour and ate garbage for two years. I learned exactly what to avoid. We haven’t had anywhere near the success of the Gun Club, but I wouldn’t trade this for 10 years in that band.”

What makes the Pontiac Brothers special for Dotson is the lack of emphasis on making it. Band meetings, fines, the rules and regulations that many groups adopt in the name of professionalism are anathema to the band.

“It’s too uptight,” says Dotson. “That’s what we wanted to get away from--professionalism. We have no manager. Nobody is telling us to dress this way, kiss somebody’s ass. If we never make it big, that’s fine. I’ll die penniless doing this.”

While most groups see a major label deal as the key to success and fame, Dotson says he’s satisfied with independent Frontier Records. “How many bands are getting signed right now to MCA?” he says. “All these bands make one record and get thrown up against a wall and maybe one of them sticks. I’ve talked to a lot of bands that are at that medium level and they don’t make any money because of the expenses in trying to be a medium level band.

“Lisa Fancher (the owner of Frontier) is like some girl I went to high school with. I ask her what we should do and she tells us. It’s not like ‘OK, you guys got to start wearing skinny ties and red shoes.’ She’s totally cool. We got to put out the record we wanted to put out.

“I consider us a band of songwriters,” he adds. “I want to write really cool songs and make really cool records that will stand up and last for 20 years. There are bands that just think, ‘What’s the trend? Country punk? Psychedelic? Honest American rock?’ You see bands that just go from stone to stone to stone doing that. I listen to this stuff and think, ‘Oh, this is kind of commercial. It’s got hooks.’ We didn’t try to make (our album) that way, but it could be big. And maybe it will. But if it doesn’t, well, we tried.”