Pigeon Opinion Featuring an Interview with DEAN RÖK

Bad Wedding Day is modern blues driven by raw guitars and a heavy, physical groove. Built for night-time energy, it sits somewhere between a dark club, a crowded bar and a live stage. Gritty, rhythmic, body-first.

Interview with DEAN RÖK

What inspired the story and emotional core behind “Bad Wedding Day”?

It’s actually a very universal subject. I think most of us — men and women — have lived through something like this. A relationship that ends because promises weren’t kept, because the paths that crossed at the beginning were never truly meant to run side by side. And yet, at the start, the fire felt so intense it seemed eternal.

“Bad Wedding Day” is a satire of those kinds of relationships — and of the illusion that sometimes pushes people all the way into marriage, only to fall apart shortly after. It plays with that tension between passion and reality.

But at the same time, there’s something deeper. Just because something ends doesn’t mean it had no meaning. It doesn’t mean it was a waste. We tend to be dramatic — we talk about “lost time” — but I believe more in the idea of a journey. Even when things don’t work out, they existed for a reason. They shape you. They teach you. And that matters.

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How did you shape the heavy, physical groove that drives the track?

At first, the song was actually slower. It didn’t have that straight, driving beat. But as I kept working on it, I felt like it needed something more physical — almost a subtle disco mood underneath. The chorus pulled me in that direction. It asked for movement.

Once I locked into that more direct rhythm, I started building the guitar lines on top of it. And suddenly it had that pulse — the kind that makes you tap your foot without even thinking about it.

I gave the track a slightly more pop edge on purpose. The lyrics talk about something ending, about disappointment — it could have easily become a melancholic, dramatic song. But I wanted the opposite. An antithesis. Not sadness… liberation.

It’s about celebrating what was, even if it didn’t last. About stepping into a new path instead of mourning the old one. I think the instrumental really reflects that shift — it carries the emotional tension but turns it into release.

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The song feels built for night-time spaces — dark clubs and crowded bars. Was that atmosphere intentional from the start?

Yes — in a way, I touched on that before. The song didn’t start with that club or dance energy. It wasn’t written with that atmosphere in mind.

But as it evolved, it naturally moved in that direction. At some point it reminded me — not in sound, but in groove and pulse — of “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss. They’re not the same kind of track, but they share that ballooning, driving rhythm that pulls people onto the floor.

So yes, it fits perfectly into dark clubs and crowded bars, where people are dancing, losing themselves a bit, feeling the night. That energy is absolutely there.

But it wasn’t planned from the beginning. It grew into that space organically.

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How does your Portuguese background influence your take on modern blues?

Even though I love my country — the food, the landscapes, the weather, the people — I never really identified with it musically. From a very young age, my roots were elsewhere. I was drawn to American music, and also British music, but especially American.

The blues, without a doubt, came from the records I listened to growing up. That’s where I built my foundation.

I think the European side shows up naturally because I am European — it’s part of who I am. But the core of my blues and rock language was shaped by those American influences.

At the same time, there’s something more global in what I do. Especially in tracks like “Falling in the Dark,” there’s a cinematic layer — maybe that comes from my background as an actor. There’s a certain dramatic tension, a sense of atmosphere, almost like scoring a scene rather than just writing a song.

Of course, there are European nuances in there too. And in the end, all of that — American roots, European identity, cinematic instinct — blends into what Dean RÖK is.

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After touring Europe under other artistic identities, what pushed you to reinvent yourself as Dean RÖK?

I believe the previous project brought me exactly where I needed to be. Just like in relationships, I don’t see it as something wasted or something that failed. Its mission was to lead me here. And maybe this one will lead me somewhere else one day — I believe in that.

But I started to feel displaced. The earlier projects were deeply rooted in western and country music — even if it was more alternative — and that’s a very niche audience. In Portugal especially, that audience is small. I realised I didn’t really have that crowd around me.

At the same time, I felt I could build something bigger. I wanted a larger sound. Something more current. More massive. More aligned with the scale of what I felt inside.

And the truth is, Dean RÖK was born at the edge of me quitting music altogether. I was close to walking away. Some disappointments, some goals I didn’t reach — they almost convinced me that maybe this wasn’t going to happen for me professionally.

I clearly remember the day I was about to call my bandmates and tell them I was stopping the project. And suddenly, words started forming in my head. A rhythm. A melody. That became “Falling in the Dark,” the first single I released this year.

Ironically, that song saved me from the hole I was in. It pulled me back. And from that moment, this new character emerged — stronger, clearer, carrying everything I felt I still had to give to music.

You describe this project as an awakening. What changed personally and artistically for you during that transition?

Hitting rock bottom and then starting to write because you need to release what you’re feeling… because you’re about to quit… because you’re tired after so many years of fighting for music — and then suddenly that song leads to another song — it’s ironic. But it’s also powerful.

I’ve always had a deep need to write and compose. That never left me. But I knew I had to do something new. Something fresher. Even though my influences are rooted in older sounds, I wanted the sonic language to feel current, alive, modern. That was always in my mind, but for a long time I hadn’t figured out how to do it.

This transition was about clarity. About understanding that I didn’t need to abandon my influences — I needed to reframe them.

And then there’s the character. I love creating alter egos. Maybe it comes from being an actor — we live on stage embodying someone who isn’t exactly us. That theatrical instinct naturally led me to shape a new persona, something that could carry this new energy and express it fully.

Dean RÖK isn’t a mask. It’s an amplified version of something that was already inside me — waiting.

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Your sound blends blues depth with modern grit and cinematic drama. How do you balance tradition with reinvention?

I think the structure, the riffs, the vocal expressiveness — that all comes from old-school roots. If you strip the songs down completely, what you’ll find is essentially old-school rock and roll.

The reinvention happens in the sound. In the production. In the layers you build in the studio. The textures. The atmosphere. That’s where things shift.

Production is everything. The “makeup” you put on top of the raw song can push it toward tradition, or toward reinvention — or toward a fusion of both.

For me, it’s about combining blues depth, cinematic tension, and modern grit. It’s not about inventing something that has never existed — music has already explored almost everything. It’s about staying fresh. About translating traditional foundations into a language that feels current.

Tradition gives you the spine. Production gives you the edge.

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What role do live performances play in shaping your songwriting and production choices?

Playing live is the culmination of everything. That’s where you see real reactions. You understand what people connect with, which songs hit harder, which ones move them emotionally, which tracks they ask for.

It’s on stage that everything makes sense.

Especially today, when technology can replicate so much, live performance is still where artists truly stand out. It’s raw. It’s human.

Those experiences shape your direction — production choices, themes, energy. You notice where people feel something, where they lose themselves, where they celebrate.

But you always stay true to what you love. Authenticity comes first. The audience matters — but the truth of the artist matters just as much.

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Lyrically, your music explores desire, loss, rebellion, and freedom. Which of these themes feels most personal to you right now?

Right now, what feels most personal to me is the drive. The fight.

This need to pour music out of myself, to build an artist with structure and dimension, releases desire, freedom, and struggle inside me.

At this moment, the most personal theme isn’t loss — it’s resilience. The hunger to keep pushing.

There’s a message there for anyone who works hard, who dreams of something bigger, who refuses to quit even when it would be easier.

That grit. That hope.

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What do you want audiences to feel when they experience Dean RÖK on a big stage under hot lights?

I want the older generation to realise that there are still big projects, real bands, that can make them feel the way the old guard once made them feel. That same electricity. That same scale.

And I want the younger generation to discover that rock is magnificent. It’s not just a genre — it’s a movement. It’s necessary.

I truly believe rock is rising again. It’s coming for the throne.

When people experience Dean RÖK on a big stage under hot lights, I want it to feel powerful. Massive. Almost cinematic.

Not just a concert — but a spectacle.

Like stepping into an arena.

Like Gladiator.

Epic. Intense. Unforgettable.

(•)> That's all, Folks! Check out DEAN RÖK on the Pigeon Opinion Playlist