The Clints Look, Don’t Sound, Like a Western Band : Rock: ‘I don’t even like country music. None of us does,’ says group’s eldest namesake.

Rock bands wearing cowboy hats? That’s been done.

Rock bands with each member taking the same name? That’s been done, too.

Then along came the Clints, an Orange County band that figured one way to invent a new promotional ploy was to splice together two old ones.

The Clints maintain--adamantly, although not very convincingly--that each of the four band members really and truly has borne the name Clint from birth. They didn’t sprout the black cowboy hats until two years ago, when the band was formed.

This does not make the Clints promotional geniuses. It’s hard to fathom why a band debuting in 1989 would want to rehash the image of the “cowpunk” bands who briefly rode the range in the early to mid-’80s--especially because many of those bands (among them Rubber Rodeo, Rank & File and Lone Justice) wound up in premature graves on pop’s version of Boot Hill.

The Clints figured that cowboy trappings would give the band an instant image, and an excuse to spin some wild Western tall tales about themselves, explained Clint Ambuter, the oldest Clint, whose shadowy beard would probably typecast him as one of the bad guys in a cowboy movie. Unlike the cowpunk bands, who all wove country influences into their sound, the Clints never intended to carry over any Western stylings into their music.

“I don’t even like country music. None of us does,” Ambuter said. Instead, he said, it was sheer process of elimination that left the Clints wearing cowboy gear and planting their concert stages with fake cacti.

“When the band was formed, we said, ‘We can’t go out and be punk, because there are so many out there with spiked haircuts.’ We didn’t want to be a glam band with long hair. Our music wasn’t like that.”

But cowboy gear would stand out, they figured. And, after all, didn’t everyone in the band already bear the first name of a certain hard-bitten film hero from the spaghetti Westerns?

Well, maybe. Asked during a recent interview to produce legal identification verifying their authenticity, self-proclaimed Clints Ambuter, Wade and Harrison demurred, mumbling something about stolen or misplaced wallets.

Setting aside the name game and the hokey cowboy jokes, the Clints’ debut album, “No Place Like Home” is a solid, wide-ranging effort that holds up without recourse to gimmickry. While not afraid to let go with some satisfyingly noisy blasts of guitar feedback or toss in some punkish thrashing rhythms, the Clints always keep the emphasis on melody. On a couple of songs, they silence the raging electric guitars and speedily flailing drums and strum folksy, airy-sounding campfire music.

Ambuter’s husky singing voice recalls his hero, Peter Gabriel, and his songs about romantic trials and existential crises display an admirably lean and concise approach to lyric writing. Wade’s songs--flightier, abstract, and strewn with tangled thickets of words--offer an enjoyably quirky counterpoint to his sidekick’s concrete images and straightforward emotionalism.

The Clints admit that what’s on the record doesn’t mesh in the least with the band’s promotional trappings: “The clothes don’t tell you who we are. What tells you who we are is the songs,” Ambuter said.

Ambuter, 28, and Wade, 27, are childhood friends who grew up on the same block in Huntington Beach. “We used to take tennis racquets when we were 10 years old and pretend we were in a band,” recalled Wade, an effusive talker with a sunny disposition. After playing together first in a progressive rock band, then in an early-’80s punk band called the Cement Bugs, the two guitarists hooked up about five years ago with bassist Clint Harrison, 25. The band’s newest member is drummer Clint Villalobos, 24, who, the others say, was recruited through a musician-wanted ad seeking drummers named Clint.

The Clints hooked up with a Los Angeles record producer, Dan Matovina, and made demo recordings that they say drew some big-label interest. But the first concrete offer came from Skyclad Records, a small New Jersey company that Matovina had approached at the New Music Seminar in New York City.

“Skyclad said they could have the album out in three months, and the other labels could have still been talking about it in three months,” Ambuter said. “It’s a good way to start--small and solid.”

Since the album came out in July, the Clints have gotten good notices in the alternative music press, as well as a fair amount of college radio airplay. While all four members hold day jobs, they plan to begin working in some touring outside Southern California, with dates in Northern California and Las Vegas set for after Thanksgiving. In the meantime, the Clints have a round of local shows coming up: Saturday at Bogart’s with fellow Skyclad acts the Popelopes and Russ Tolman; Nov. 24 at the Meadowlark Country Club, with the Vandals; and a Nov. 25 acoustic set at the cozy Doll Hut in Anaheim.

When “No Place Like Home” came out, it contained one surprise that had the Clints scratching their heads under those black hats. It turns out that the folks at Skyclad Records know a thing or two about grabbing attention with a promotional image--the company logo printed on the record features a blood-red splotch set against a background photo of the exploding space shuttle Challenger.

“Isn’t that horrible?” Wade said. “Don’t ask.”

The Clints play Saturday at 10 p.m. at Bogart’s, in the Marina Pacifica Mall, 6288 E. Pacific Coast Highway, Long Beach. Also playing are Too Many Joes, Russ Tolman and the Popelopes. Tickets: $6. Information: (213) 594-8975.

SO LONG: Jim Palmer, one of the leading figures in developing Orange County’s alternative-rock scene over the past five years, has moved to Las Vegas. There is still an Orange County connection in Palmer’s life, though: He’ll be working as a concert promoter and publicist for Calamity Jane’s, a rock nightclub co-owned by Coach House owner Gary Folgner.

“I’ll be dealing with bigger artists and management companies and record companies,” said Palmer, an ex-Marine corporal who has been involved in the Orange County rock scene since 1984. “I’ll still be in touch with Orange County as much as I can be. I still have a real interest in that.”

Palmer booked concerts at local clubs, released several albums by local bands on his own Out There label, and touted such upcoming Orange County bands as Imagining Yellow Suns, the Swamp Zombies and Don’t Mean Maybe to others in the music business who could help them advance. Palmer said he will continue to operate his own national tour booking agency, Plaza Booking, although on a scaled-down level.

Palmer has made one of his finest contributions as the organizer and promoter of the annual “Orange County Music For The Needy” benefit, which raises money and gathers food, clothing and toys to provide a festive Christmas holiday for poor families in the county. The daylong benefit also serves as a showcase and a get-together for the local rock scene. The fifth annual Music For The Needy benefit will take place Dec. 17 at the Coach House, with Dick Dale (solo), the Wild Cards, the Joe Wood Project, James Harman, and the Louisiana Cajun Trio among the featured acts.