Yacht Rock is the perfect summer soundtrack
And you don’t even need a yacht, just some big sunglasses and the right vibe
Me and my friend Bronco talk every day, even if it’s only a word or two, and when one of us is having a fantastic day, we text, “Yacht Rock.”
Michael McDonald, Steely Dan, Christopher Cross, TOTO, Hall & Oates, Thriller-era Michael Jackson. The music that cool parents listened to in the 1990s.
Yacht Rock is a subgenre of Soft Rock and R&B that feels good to listen to.
It is the sound of West Coast studio perfection meeting emotional restraint. The chords are smooth. The grooves are jazz-inflamed. The vocals are soft but technically exact. The lyrics often trace the edges of heartbreak, escapism, and adult disappointment, yet somehow never seem sad.
The music took shape in the late '70s and early '80s, crafted by a generation of musicians and producers in Los Angeles with elite chops and exemplary taste.
The term “Yacht Rock” itself didn’t exist at the time. Back then, the genre was loosely called Soft Rock. It was music for adults who still had a record player and a convertible.
The phrase "Yacht Rock" arrived much later, in 2005, when a group of comedians created a web series of the same name. They poked fun at the genre’s breezy optimism, pastel visuals, and melodic sincerity. The name stuck.
But what began as parody became, over time, a framework for critical reappraisal. Today, the genre is enjoying a full-blown revival. Yacht Rock tribute bands are touring the country. There are official Spotify playlists, and a dedicated Sirius XM station. Last year, Bill Simmons’ HBO Music Box series featured “Yacht Rock: A DOCKumentary.”
In its wake, “Yacht Rock” is an even more controversial term.
This “controversy” is ridiculous. The genre is serious, made by brilliant musicians and producers … and it’s fun. Nobody’s trying to eradicate the genius of Steely Dan by classifying it as vibe-worthy.
Elsewhere, Jacobin disparaged Yacht Rock as "endlessly banal, melodic and inoffensive, fit to be piped into Macy's changing rooms,” describing Michael McDonald as a "bleached, blue-eyed soul cracker.”
Most of the commentary about Yacht Rock is just as snotty.
Maybe I’m allergic to this kind of high-brow snobbery, especially when it hides behind music.
Because, at its best, Yacht Rock is not ironic at all. It is emotionally literate.
It’s a frequency, the performance of a lifestyle. A sonic antidepressant.
Put it on at a pool party, or at a dive bar, or during a solo drive, and watch the mood shift. People smile more. Arguments dissolve. Conversation flourishes.
Yacht Rock is many things—smooth, catchy, complex. masterfully produced, and sometimes absurd. But one of my favorite characteristics is that it is generous. It gives you space to feel things without falling apart.
The following list is a personal one.
Some of these songs belong to the official canon. Others drift along the edges. A few don’t technically qualify at all. But they all share a mysterious joy.
“Ain’t Nobody” by Chaka Khan
I reviewed a celebrity-packed performance by The Roots for The Dallas Observer, and the highlight, by far, was Chaka Khan.
She’s fabulous enough to belong to any number of genres, including Yacht Rock, whirling it into a shoulder-padded blazer, glittering with sequins.
“Ain’t Nobody” is our starting place because it’s high energy, total positivity. A blaring love song, as Chaka bellows, “And now we're flyin' through the stars/ I hope this night will last forever.”
The groove behind her is airtight, digital, and enchanted.
Written by David "Hawk" Wolinski and recorded with Chicago Funk outfit Rufus, the song was originally intended for a live album but ended up as the breakout single on the Stompin’ at the Savoy release. It earned Chaka and Rufus a Grammy and hit #1 on the Billboard R&B chart and helped define the post-disco ‘80s sound—slick, funky, emotionally maximalist.
Musically, it’s forceful. That instantly recognizable synth arpeggio (courtesy of a Roland Jupiter-8) glitters with the melody. The drums are robotic but warm. The bassline is minimal but locked-in.
Chaka turns a fairly simple lyric into something mythic: “Ain’t nobody / loves me better.”
Call this Midnight Yacht. After the champagne, after the tears, when the ocean’s calm, and someone suddenly starts floating. It’s groove music that doesn’t explain itself.
“Again” Max Rickun
Here’s a wild card—because Yacht Rock needs wild cards. A Neo-Yacht-Rock cover of Fetty Wap. Max Rickun’s version reframes Fetty Wap’s original—Michael McDonald style.
Rickun strips away the trap drums and Auto-Tune, replacing them with emotional professionalism: “I want you to be mine again, baby” goes from club cry to marina confessional.
The original came out in 2015—an earnest, wounded love song that Zoomers have unexpectedly embraced, somewhat ironically, but also, in true Gen Z fashion, with lovely admiration.
And with good reason.
I remember hearing “Again” when it came out, wondering how it could be classified in an era of Weeknd and Miguel and Jeremih, the dominant voices of a revolutionary year for R&B. Surviving R. Kelly wouldn’t drop for another few years, but it had been a while since Kelly sang about happy people, and even longer since he’d believed he could fly, and he was slowly losing his throne.
Drake was in the studio recording Views — the outstanding album that has proven to be his last stellar effort. Frank Ocean was recording Blonde, quite possibly the greatest R&B album of our time. Odd Future had mostly disbanded, but The Internet was going strong, earning a Grammy nomination for Ego Death, and had yet to catapult Steve Lacy into the next iteration of profanity-laced Emo-Rap-Soul.
Nobody could have predicted that, a decade later, this bold movement would lead to a Yacht Rock banger that reconnects the subgenre to its soulful roots while also propelling it into bizarre new terrain.
Rickun’s cover quietly made its rounds across YouTube and indie playlists.
This isn’t traditional Yacht Rock by any means, but if Jacobin can make ridiculous claims about the subgenre, I’m allowed to declare it a living musical substrate.
“What a Fool Believes” by The Doobie Brothers
If there’s a throughline for this list, it’s Michael McDonald. The man is practically the President of Yacht Rock. And “What a Fool Believes” is the subgenre’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
Co-written by Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins, the song tells the story of a man who reunites with an old flame and realizes—too late—that he’s the only one who thought it meant something.
A song so smooth it demands its own genre. “What a Fool Believes” writhes with all the anguish of a good Pop song. And, true to that form, it’s infectiously catchy, a whirlwind of falsetto that uplifts you despite the sadness of the lyrics: “She had a place in his life / He never made her think twice.”
It’s like therapy set to a Fender Rhodes.
Released in 1978 on the Doobie Brothers’ Minute by Minute album, the track was a commercial and critical smash—#1 on the Billboard Hot 100, it won the Grammy for Song of the Year, and became a permanent fixture in any conversation about what Soft Rock can do when it aims for the heart using calculation through melody.
Musically, it’s airtight. That opening synth riff sets the tone. Every chord change is elegant and unexpected. There’s not a single note wasted—and yet it never feels cold. It feels like a last chance evaporating in real time.
This is the gold standard. It’s the song that plays as the yacht sails away, and you realize you blew it. Every genre has a track that defines it. For Yacht Rock, this is it.
“Dance” by ESG
Like many songs on this list, ESG technically doesn’t belong here, but I’m going with vibe over definition.
ESG—Emerald, Sapphire & Gold—were four sisters combining No-Wave Minimalism, stripped Funk, and raw rhythm with just enough attitude to change music forever. They belonged to South Bronx, which had been immortalized on Boogie Down Productions’ Criminal Minded one year earlier.
Hip-Hop was still in its infancy, after springing to life at a house party not far from ESG’s territory. The Dance-punk sisters would play a vital role in its spread thanks to “UFO,” which has been sampled in at least 550 songs.
ESG eschews lush chords or glossy production, preferring space and eruption. What emerges is orchestral in a way that’s oddly similar to Steely Dan’s cocaine-fueled perfectionism.
Produced by Factory Records legend Martin Hannett (known for Joy Division), “Dance” is post-punk funk boiled down to its essential parts: bass, conga, chant, repeat.
The lyrics are beyond simple: “I want to dance.”
Think of “Dance” as Yacht Rock's rebellious little sister sneaking into the party in Reeboks while blowing out the speakers.
ESG were pioneers—hugely influential on Hip-Hop, Electronica, and Indie Rock. “Dance” has been sampled by everyone from J Dilla to TLC, and it still sounds fresh.
No solos. No gloss. Just groove and mania. And somehow, that’s just as smooth.
“Aja” by Steely Dan
Apparently, Steely Dan hated being labeled Yacht Rock. This is on-brand for Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, who hated the industry and its mechanics and loved to gripe about it.
But, I mean, c’mon. The song even has Michael McDonald.
Steely Dan will still always remain near impossible to pigeonhole into any one genre. And it’s safe to assume that their flawless music would sound terrific at sea.
You can just blast Aja nonstop and never abandon the fundamentals of Yacht Rock. And, ironically, resistance to the label only strengthens its hold on the Chevy Chase-connected intellectual rock stars.
Like the rest of the album, “Aja” is a masterclass in instrumental sophistication. Pure genius, with the jazz-rock perfectionists assembling elite-tier session players like chess pieces.
The lineup includes Steve Gadd (whose drum solo at the end launched percussion into a new era), Wayne Shorter on saxophone (yes, that Wayne Shorter), and a who’s-who of jazz-fusion royalty quietly shredding under Fagen’s cool vocal detachment.
The lyrics are famously opaque—“Double helix in the sky tonight,” as Fagen sings—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not meant to interpret “Aja.” You absorb it.
The song moves in suites: from gentle mysticism to Jazz eruption and back to a kind of oceanic groove. It’s ambitious, indulgent, and outlandishly expensive.
Every soft-sailing, hyper-produced track that came after owes a debt to “Aja.”
“Baby Come Back” by Player
This is a sad song. But one of the great accomplishments of Yacht Rock is that, despite the crippling sadness of many of its songs, it somehow avoids being a downer.
“Baby Come Back” belongs to anyone who’s said “I’m better off without you,” knowing full well it isn’t true.
Player came out of L.A.’s late-‘70s session scene, co-founded by British-born Peter Beckett and American J.C. Crowley. The band was signed by RSO Records (the same label as the Bee Gees), and “Baby Come Back” became their debut single—and their biggest hit. It hit No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early 1978 and basically stayed glued to the radio for the next decade.
Beckett wrote the song after a real breakup, which is why the desperation hits so cleanly. “Any kind of fool could see / There was something in everything about you…”
Ouch.
Musically, it’s all false bravado and performative restraint. Fender Rhodes keys float gently, guitars shimmer just enough, and the rhythm section grooves without a single rough edge. A soft-focus, cocktail-hour confession dressed up like a California dream.
“I Keep Forgettin’ (Every Time You’re Near)” by Michael McDonald
“I Keep Forgettin’” is Michael McDonald’s masterpiece.
The rhythm section is criminally good. Jeff Porcaro (Toto) on drums, Louis Johnson (of the Brothers Johnson) on slap bass, Greg Phillinganes on keys—it’s like Quincy Jones threw a breakup party on a boat. There’s no solo. No wasted motion. Just precision funk, wrapped around McDonald’s pleading falsetto.
The song sounds like a vibe, but it’s devastating if you actually listen. He’s missing someone. He’s haunted. “I keep forgettin’ we’re not in love anymore…”
That’s a haunting realization. A painful one.
Released in 1982, this was McDonald’s first major solo single after the Doobie Brothers, co-written with his sister Maureen. It climbed to No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100. Later, it was famously sampled in Warren G’s 1994 hit “Regulate,” giving it a second life as the backbone of West Coast G-Funk.
Yacht Rock has been extensively sampled by Hip-Hop producers, often on songs that make you feel good.
“It’s Important to Me” by Deniece Williams
Deniece Williams’ 1976 album This is Niecey is a classic. Produced by Maurice White and Charles Stepney — I’ll eventually run an article about Stepney and his impact on modern music.
“It’s Important to Me” is Yacht Rock for people who actually mean what they say. Deniece Williams testifies. The groove is soft and honeyed, pure late-night satin, but the message is grounded: what I feel, what I need, what I care about—it matters. That’s not drama. That’s maturity.
The arrangement is all elegance: liquid Rhodes, gentle guitar, a groove that sways like a docked sailboat, with Williams' voice gliding effortlessly overhead—never pushing.
It’s the rare track that feels romantic without performance. Vulnerable, but not fragile. Smooth, but not slick.
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