Indie music. To some: joke fodder. To others: a way of life. The mainstream folk dismiss it as noise that people who wear extra tight pants and canvas shoes listen to. And they are absolutely right. Science proves that tight pants can cut up to 70% of blood flow to the brain, which explains why indie people may think it sounds good.

Conquered by my inquisitive nature, I ventured to the heart of Uptown to see the effects of tight pants on the brain and the consequences of indie music on the human psyche.

I tracked down a large man wearing size 18 pants and a ski cap in the back alley near the Kinh Do Vietnamese restaurant.

“……………………………what is life,” said the man, when questioned about his favorite band. Embarrassed because I had never heard of the band “What is Life,” I made a speedy exit. On the way out of the alley a young man offered me a mix tape of bird noises.

But what comprises indie music itself? Where does one draw the line between the mainstream and the indie river? (It’s a pun.)

The main rift between the two worlds of music is simple: mainstream music simply sounds better. Yes, I said it, mainstream music generally makes you happy and gives you something to “hippity hop” to at the club with your happy, hippity friends. Indie music does not provide this happiness. Or friends.

Though I don’t speak for all of my independent colleagues, I must say that no one listens to indie music because they enjoy it. And if indie music ever gets to the point where it can be enjoyed, it is immediately sent to Cities 97 where the cool people can listen to it and be happy. This, of course, means the track is off limits for the indie people.

I’m not bitter, I’m just cynical.

Take Edward Sharpe’s track, “Home,” for example. I remember when it was first released, I revelled in the fact that the mainstream folk, with their hormones, would never get to hear it. Look at it now. “Home” is the official song of the NFL this season. The NFL! It’s like the rest of society wants to take everything good from us, the indie kids who sit in basements and critique the critic’s reviews of an album. And I don’t even have a basement.

But I digress. In closing, I have a short word for the mainstream folk: You can have your Lil’ Wayne and your T Breezy Slice feat. daddy fatcake$, but please, give me back Edward Sharpe. Also whoever stole my Neutral Milk Hotel vinyl to use as a frisbee, please… I’m going through withdrawals…