The first thing you notice, stepping through the door at Planet Fun Sound in Franklin, Tennessee, isn’t the hum of amplifiers or the smell of old wood and cables. It’s the laughter. Not the nervous, self-conscious laughter of musicians pretending everything’s fine, but the kind that comes from old friends trading stories, taking the piss, and—just maybe—believing for the first time in a long time that they’ve got something special on their hands.
On a muggy spring afternoon, the band Tenkiller—Mike Lewis, Clint McBay, Bill Power, and Ian Hoey—are scattered around a battered couch, surrounded by guitars that look like they’ve survived a few wars and a whiteboard covered in song titles, half-scratched out and rewritten. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, the kind you get at the start of a road trip or the night before a big change.
For years, the members of Tenkiller lived in the margins of the American rock scene, their lives pulled in different directions by families, careers, and the relentless passing of time. Lewis and McBay, in particular, had walked away from the music world nearly three decades ago, their names whispered among diehards of ‘90s alt-rock but mostly forgotten by the wider world. They had jobs, mortgages, routines; they were the kind of men who understood how easily dreams can slip through your fingers.
But something changed in the last couple of years. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was middle age, or maybe it was just that the unfinished songs in their heads refused to stay quiet. Whatever the reason, the four musicians found themselves drawn back to each other—and, more importantly, to the idea of making something that mattered, even if it was just for themselves.
The result is “Burn The Boats,” a debut album that feels less like a career move and more like a dare: to see if you can still make magic long after the world has stopped paying attention. Set for release on August 1st, 2025, the album is a collection of stories about love, loss, hope, and the stubborn resilience it takes to start over when you’re old enough to know better.
The story of Tenkiller is, in many ways, the story of American music itself: a tale of reinvention, risk, and the pull of home. Mike Lewis and Clint McBay grew up on the same sonic highways that crisscross the South—backroads buzzing with the ghosts of country, gospel, and rock ‘n’ roll. Their first band, For Love Not Lisa, made some noise in the ‘90s, earning cult status but never quite breaking out. McBay would later play with Chainsaw Kittens, another group beloved by those in the know and overlooked by everyone else.
By the early 2000s, both men had stepped away from music. “It wasn’t a dramatic thing,” Lewis says, picking at the foam on his coffee cup. “I just kind of… stopped. I got married. Had kids. Life got busy. And suddenly ten, fifteen years go by, and you realize you haven’t played a show in forever.”
Bill Power—who produced, recorded, and mixed “Burn The Boats”—has his own story. A veteran of the underground, he worked with Blenderhead and Spoken in Tongues before moving to Nashville and opening his studio, Planet Fun. “I thought I was done,” Power admits. “But I kept coming back to music. It’s like an itch that never really goes away.”
Ian Hoey, the youngest in the group, cut his teeth with The Inheritance. “When Mike and Clint called, I couldn’t say no,” he laughs. “It was like getting a chance to play with your older cousins who have all the best records.”
Their reunion wasn’t planned. It started with a few texts, a lunch, and an old demo tape. “We just started jamming,” McBay recalls. “No expectations. But it felt right. Like there was unfinished business.”
The album’s earliest days were spent in Power’s makeshift studio, surrounded by old amps, battered notebooks, and the ghosts of half-remembered riffs. “We didn’t have a label breathing down our necks,” says Lewis. “It was just us, making the music we wanted to hear.”
What emerged were songs that felt lived-in: “Tennessee Hills” is a love letter to home, equal parts nostalgia and regret, while “If You Wanted To” aches with the longing of second chances. “Break Up Song” is raw and unsparing—no false bravado, just the honesty of grown men who’ve loved, lost, and learned to laugh about it.
“We wrote a lot about starting over,” McBay explains. “Not just in relationships, but in life. What do you do when you realize you’re not the kid you used to be—and that’s okay?”
The writing process was collaborative, with Lewis and McBay trading lines, Power suggesting arrangements, and Hoey anchoring everything with drums that swing between delicate and thunderous. “There was a lot of arguing,” Hoey admits, grinning. “But the best kind. We all cared about making this record good.”
Guest musicians dropped in—Kelby Ray, R.R. Williams, Tiffany Lewis—adding layers of pedal steel, harmonies, and unexpected color. “It was like building a house with all your friends,” says Power. “Everyone brought something to the table.”
Recording “Burn The Boats” was a study in contrasts: some days were effortless, others felt like pulling teeth. “There were songs that just came together,” Lewis says. “Others we rewrote six times. We let the music lead us.”
Power’s approach to production was minimalistic but intentional. “I wanted it to sound like a band in a room,” he says. “We weren’t chasing perfection. We wanted energy, honesty, mistakes and all.”
The studio itself became a character in the process. “It’s not fancy,” Power laughs. “But there’s a vibe. The walls are covered in old gig posters, there’s a fridge full of beer, and the neighbors don’t complain if we get loud.”
One of the album’s most striking features is its warmth—a deliberate choice in a world obsessed with digital gloss. “We recorded to tape, used real amps, real drums,” says Hoey. “It makes a difference. You can hear the room, the air, the sweat.”
The album’s title comes from an old story: When the explorer Hernán Cortés landed in Mexico in 1519, he ordered his men to burn their ships, leaving no option but to move forward. “It’s about commitment,” Lewis says. “We’re not trying to hedge our bets. We’re all in.”
For Tenkiller, “Burn The Boats” is equal parts battle cry and confession. The songs wrestle with the past but refuse to be defined by it. There’s joy here, and loss, and the restless hunger of artists who know that time is both enemy and muse.
“Making this album was risky,” McBay admits. “We all have families, real lives. But there’s something freeing about saying, ‘Screw it, let’s go for it.’”
Tenkiller’s sound is hard to pin down, and that’s intentional. “We grew up listening to everything,” says Power. “Country, punk, gospel, Motown. We wanted the album to feel like all those influences in a blender.”
The result is a record that sits comfortably alongside the best of Americana and alt-country—think Jason Isbell, Lucinda Williams, or Drive-By Truckers—but with a distinct personality. “We didn’t want to make a nostalgia record,” Lewis insists. “We wanted something that feels alive, of this moment.”
Americana itself is having a renaissance, with younger artists exploring the intersections of country, rock, soul, and folk. “There’s a hunger for authenticity,” says Hoey. “People are tired of polished, soulless pop. They want grit, stories, something that feels real.”
Tenkiller doesn’t just ride this wave—they add to it, bringing the hard-earned wisdom of years spent both in and out of the spotlight. “We’re not chasing trends,” McBay says. “We’re just telling our story.”
For “Burn The Boats,” the band wanted every element to feel handcrafted. They commissioned woodcut artist Tyler Hacket to create a one-of-a-kind album cover, and limited edition posters are being hand-printed for fans who want something tangible. “In a digital age, it matters,” says Power. “People want to touch, to hold something real.”
The artwork echoes the album’s themes: a ship in flames, silhouetted against a dusk sky, with roots and rivers winding through the scene. “It’s about transformation,” Hacket explains. “Letting go of the past, embracing what comes next.”
As word about Tenkiller’s debut spread, early singles found their way onto streaming platforms. “Tennessee Hills,” with its rolling guitars and bittersweet lyrics, quickly became a fan favorite. “If You Wanted To” and “Break Up Song” followed, each track spinning hundreds of times a day on Apple Music, Spotify, and more (Tenkiller Music).
The band used social media, live streams, and old-fashioned word-of-mouth to build anticipation. “We’re not TikTok influencers,” Hoey laughs. “But we know how to tell a story. And people are listening.”
Music blogs and indie magazines started to take notice. Down The Line Zine called the album “a masterclass in grown-up rock—full of scars, hope, and the kind of songs you want to drive to.” Heavens Metal Magazine and others praised the band’s chemistry, songwriting, and the sense of joy that runs through every track (Heavens Metal Magazine).
On August 1st, 2025, Tenkiller will take the stage at the Mockingbird Theater in Franklin, Tennessee, joined by friends R.R. Williams and Ryan Lockhart. The venue—an intimate space with velvet curtains, creaky floors, and the kind of acoustics that make guitars ring like church bells—will be packed with fans old and new.
“We wanted the first show to feel like a family reunion,” says Lewis. “No pretension. Just people who love this music.”
The setlist will span the full album, with a few surprises thrown in. “We might do some old For Love Not Lisa stuff,” McBay hints. “And maybe a cover or two.”
Fans can expect more than just music: limited-edition vinyl, CDs, and posters will be on sale, and the band plans to hang out after the show. “We want to meet everyone,” says Power. “Shake hands, tell stories.”
For those who can’t make it, the band will livestream parts of the evening on their social channels, ensuring the experience is as inclusive as possible.
Tenkiller’s fans are a diverse bunch: some grew up with the members’ earlier bands, while others are discovering the music for the first time. “We get messages from people all over,” says Hoey. “One woman wrote that ‘Tennessee Hills’ reminded her of her father, who passed away last year. Stuff like that means everything.”
The band makes a point of responding to every message, every email. “It’s about community,” says McBay. “We’re not rock stars. We’re just guys lucky enough to get a second chance.”
Even as “Burn The Boats” launches, the band is already thinking ahead. Power is in pre-production for a new Spoken in Tongues album, while Lewis and McBay are writing new Tenkiller songs. “We’re not slowing down,” says Lewis. “If anything, we’re just getting started.”
There are plans for a regional tour, with stops in Nashville, Atlanta, and beyond. “We want to play for anyone who’ll have us,” says Hoey. “Big rooms, small clubs, doesn’t matter.”
The band hopes their story inspires others to take risks, to chase the dreams that feel just out of reach. “It’s never too late,” McBay says. “That’s what ‘Burn The Boats’ is about. You don’t need permission. Just go.”
Tenkiller’s journey resonates because it taps into something universal: the desire to begin again, to make peace with the past and leap into the unknown. In an era obsessed with youth and novelty, their story is a reminder that some of the best art comes from experience, from failure, from the courage to try one more time.
“Everyone has boats to burn,” says Lewis. “Old fears, old regrets. The trick is to light the match and see what happens.”
As the final notes of the album fade, what lingers isn’t nostalgia but possibility—the sense that, no matter how many miles are behind you, there’s always another road ahead.
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