Led by Jake Kiszka and Chris Turpin, Mirador forge a new hard rock identity – ferocious, cinematic, and carved from pure chemistry and intent.
Los Angeles got its first real taste of Mirador at The Fonda Theatre, and the verdict was immediate: this band isn’t an offshoot or a side project – it’s a statement. The union of former Greta Van Fleet guitarist Jake Kiszka and Ida Mae’s Chris Turpin has produced something rawer, darker, and far more deliberate than either’s past work. Their debut Los Angeles performance felt like the ignition point for a new force in modern hard rock, one that values both intensity and craft equally.
Opening the evening was the artist Linka Moja. Linka opened up the night by taking her classic rock inspiration and giving it a modern twist that makes it feel relevant in today’s world, seamlessly merging folk melodies, rock instrumentation, and soulful rhythms.
The lights dropped to deep crimson, and Mirador walked on. Kiszka’s guitar growled first – thick, blues-soaked, and unrelenting – cutting through the Fonda’s air like a blade. Turpin followed with that unmistakable rasp, equal parts preacher and storm, channeling a kind of primal catharsis that pushed the room to its edge. From the opening track, “Vultures,” it was clear this wasn’t nostalgia rock – it was elemental, visceral, and alive.
Songs like “Heels of the Hunt” and “Ashes To Earth” showcased Kiszka’s evolution as a guitarist. Gone were the Zeppelin comparisons that dogged his early years; his tone here was leaner, more purposeful, with a modern grit that owed as much to Queens of the Stone Age as it did to Cream. Turpin’s presence, meanwhile, grounded the chaos; his rhythm guitar and vocal phrasing lent the band’s stormier tendencies a soulful gravity.
Mid-set, Mirador slowed things briefly with “Must I Go Bound,” a moody ballad that revealed surprising depth and restraint. The song built slowly from a whisper into a roar, with Kiszka bending a single note into a wail that hung in the rafters. The moment landed not as a breather but as an emotional high point, a reminder that power doesn’t always require volume.
But when the volume returned, it did so with devastating precision. “Blood and Custard” was pulverizing in the best sense – tight, dynamic, and executed with a clarity that separated Mirador from most emerging hard rock acts.
Their nearly an hour-and-forty-five-minute set consisted of just ten songs, extended, hard-rock odysseys that blurred the line between composition and controlled chaos. Each jam unfolded like a living thing, evolving, mutating, and finding new shape in real time. For fans of hard rock, the set passed in the blink of an eye, a reminder that when musicians play without fear of limits, time itself seems to bend to their will. Live, Mirador is an entirely different beast – louder, rawer, and more immediate than any studio recording could capture. Their performance at The Fonda wasn’t just heard; it was felt, every riff and rhythm hitting with the kind of physical force that defines true rock and roll.
At The Fonda, Mirador didn’t just announce themselves – they demanded attention. It was a performance that bridged worlds: the elegance of musicianship and the ferocity of instinct. And in that middle ground, something entirely new was born.
THE FONDA THEATRE
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