Life moves fast in Mirador. They wrote their first 10 songs in a week. Their first gig took place in front of 12,000 people, opening for co-frontman Jake Kiszka’s ‘other’ band. At their first headline show, in Nashville, fans queued outside for two days straight. By night two, in New York City, they were singing the words to all the songs. Rapidly forming a Deadhead-style community, fans travelled together between cities, sharing intel, trading lyrics, making their own merch. Promising omens, certainly, for one of the hottest prospects in high-spec, nostalgic rock’n’roll since Jack White and Rival Sons began blazing that trail. All that, and at that point Mirador had yet to release a single piece of music.
“Those gigs were wild,” recalls Chris Turpin, nursing the remains of an iced black coffee, shades on in the Soho watering hole in which we’ve met. “Every show they were there from midnight the night before, queues around the block, they waited three hours after the show…”
