Roark front man Brian O’Neil modestly describes the spirit of his debut solo album Break of Day as ”a new beginning.” And it’s true, this is O’Neil’s first solo endeavor, but he sounds like a pop-rock writing veteran. His voice is way up there, male-mezzo-soprano, with soaring, pure melody lines, a la Copeland or Chris Carraba. But he has more funk and soul in his little finger than Dashboard. The songs rock, but aren’t “riff-heavy.” Instead the rock in Break of Day sounds “decorated,” decorated with piano and electric guitar twiddling, and a punchy sense of dynamics to rival any balls-out emo ensemble, all well within Roark’s control.
”Roark” is the name of Brian O’Neil’s band, which is just him, sort of like Trent Reznor with NIN, because, frankly, he: “wanted to have a name with some meaning, you know? The name actually comes from the Ayn Rand novel called The Fountainhead. It’s the last name of the main character, whose name is Howard Roark. Here writing has really influence me in a lot of my choices, and her philosophy really got to me and hit home.
Brian’s dog just died, and he sort of agrees that it’s sadder when dog’s die than humans: It would sound terrible if I agreed with that, but you become so attached to your pet that they become like family, you know? His name was “Cody,” a golden retriever, and he was my best friend.
Friends and fans often insist that Brian could win American Idol, and this bothers him: If one more person tells me, “You should try out for American Idol,” I’m going to punch them in the eye.” I’m just like, “Shut up!” No, I don’t care. Even if I fucking won, I just don’t want to do it that way. I hate that show.
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