Let's be honest... My exposure to surf culture hasn't always been the most positive of experiences. I moved to a small coastal town in New South Wales in the mid-90s; its modest population was densely packed with 'surfies.' Totally understandable - I mean, I hear those types gravitate towards the water. I was never going to begin to fit into that sun bleached and tanned mould though. I was white as a ghost, burned beet red after five minutes in direct sun, and couldn't swim.

And, let me be honest. Most of those 'surfie' types were effing jerks. To me anyway. So as soon as I waved goodbye to the coast and hello to some semblance of urban living, I tried to rid myself of anything resembling 'surf culture.'

It's interesting that I ended up at The Happening over at St Kilda's Espy last week then. It was on it's Melbourne-leg of an East Coast tour which had, appropriately, taken place a few nights before up north in Bondi. There were two elements that got me there - and they had nothing to do with blue water culture: Neil Halstead and an ambiguous promise of an extended preview of the film, Under Great White Northern Lights.

The Gershwin Room was a comfortable choice of venue for an event best described as 'laid back.' Upon entry one was met with a cosy collection of art and photographs, all influenced by the deep blue sea. For about an hour after doors open, patrons milled around the various framed exhibits. Some pieces were fairly rudimentary, others were exceptionally breathtaking. All of them seemed to sum up the simplicity and power of both surf culture and the entity it grew around - the ocean.

A small, general criticism about the evening before I go any further. Some clarification of who was playing when, as well as how the multimedia offerings mixed into the evening's processions would have gone a long way. Scheduling information was nigh impossible to come across - the only indication of a timetable being a slip of paper tacked onto the small sound desk to the right of the room.

To open the event, a one hour preview of the Woodshed flick 180° South played on a screen. Let a skeptic proclaim that this documentary looks fantastic. Surf filmmaker Chris Malloy documents his experience retracing an epic journey first taken in 1968 by adventurists Yvon Chouinard and Douglas Tompkins through North America to Patagonia. Watching that oft-forgotten wild spirit of surf culture was envigorating. And the two dudes who first completed the 10,000 mile journey are complete legends, still living by the attitude that inspired them in the sixties. I loved this quote from protaganist, Yvon Chouinard, which came beautifully after watching footage of the subjects abseiling down a bald clifface :

"These mountain climbing corporate executives that scale Mount Everest in a package deal... they go up the mountain as assholes, and they come back down as assholes."

I'm looking forward to seeing the flick in full.

The room had filled considerably during 180° South's preview - surprising given the lack of publicity. It wasn't until the preview finished that I noticed the bare setup on stage. The only things filling it were acoustic guitar cases. Then I remembered what surf music has turned into. It's not the fierce electric-riffs that blew into the rock and roll scene in the sixties. It's mellow. Man, Jack Johnson, you have a lot to answer for.

Let's be honest here. I'm feeling a tad embarrassed. Simply because there was nothing memorable about the music at all. Songsmith Will Connor started the event's musical offerings, and that's where I started to lose interest. To be fair, I have to assume that some people out there dig the simple acoustic offerings of an artist like Will Connor. I don't. There's a pervading genericism in this modern day fad called 'chill out music.' Everyone sounds the same. Their voices sound the same. The way they play guitar sounds the same. Their lyrics are the same. Their song constructions are - basically - exactly the same. Yawn.

And honestly, it didn't improve. I didn't make it as far as the extended preview for the film, Under Great White Northern Lights. It was the very last segment of the evening - and it kind of felt like that scheduling was on purpose, to try to make people like me stay until the end. It didn't work.

Throughout the event, two thirds of the crowd remained seated on the floor. There was something comfortably intimate about the atmosphere, but it wasn't enough to make up for what felt like an absence of energy.