Yacht Punk sounds like Stephen King’s movie Maximum Overdrive took a handful of downers. It has something to do with free-basing weed wax off nice silverware you heated up on an electric stove. It’s drinking daiquiris out of a hollowed-out pineapple at a vampire bar, flying on acid. It’s doing hippie-flips in the desert while eating steak dinner with a roommates’ retired relatives, having a black dumpster cat named Mazzy Star, and destroying another pair of white Converse. No, they don't ride on yachts and they don't play punk.