On July 19, European anti-trust regulators allowed a merger between Sony Music and BMG, the second- and fifth-largest music corporations in the world. What does this mean? Apart from some 2,000 people possibly losing their jobs and more than 300 bands having their major label deals snatched out from under them, this means that one company (which will be given the oh-so-original title, Sony BMG) will be releasing 25 percent of all new albums into the world. That’s incredibly insane. Together with Universal, two companies will control more than half of all music releases. Why aren’t you more pissed off? You should be. Everyone should be running around pulling the hair from their faux-hawks and stamping up and down on copy-protected compact discs. We should light vinyl fires from here to Los Angeles and unleash falsetto wails against the posers and trendsetters. I don’t see you jumping out of your Economy 101 lecture and slam-dancing your way to California. Oh well, it’s not a perfect world, but at least the president isn’t lying to us … oh, wait a second.

Anyway, after all of this merger stuff is taken into account, there will be only four corporate behemoths controlling 80-some percent of all music, leaving independent labels (of which there are thousands) only a minimal corner of the market. So unless you want to spend the rest of time living off the over-produced, horny-frat-guy music of Usher (although Lil’ John always gets me, “Yeah! Okay!”) and the sleep-inducing tones of stale pop queens like Avril Lavigne, Sarah McLachlan and Dido, here is a step-by-step guide to becoming “indie.”

First, forget everything that common sense would dictate regarding production value. Get used to the quality of songs depending entirely on how eminent the hiss of the four-track tape recorder is within the mix. Do the vocals distort every time the singer raises his/her voice above a whisper (see Graham Smith a.k.a. Kleenex Girl Wonder for a prime example)? Then this song absolutely kicks ass. Do brass instruments, keyboards, strings and nose flutes sound like a pair of frothy armadillos getting it on? You’re probably listening to one of Pitchfork’s “Most Important Indie Albums of All Time.”

Second, drink a lot of coffee (not Starbucks, you might as well work for Wal-Mart and toss your roommate’s Saddle Creek discography out the window) and don’t sleep. Ever. Listen to rare 45s that cost $20 each and endlessly refresh any number of Guided By Voices fan sites waiting for someone to post up-to-the-minute set lists. Repeat every night until you start calling your mom Robert Pollard and asking your dog where the nearest thrift store is.

Third, only buy clothes that have been previously worn. Only play 8-bit (or fewer) videogames. Only drink cocktails with stupid names or mugs of PBR with tiny polka-dot umbrellas in them.

You’ll also have to invest in an expensive (but not extravagant-looking) stereo system and a pair of really large, goofy-looking recording headphones that you will wear everywhere. The larger your headphones are, the more humongous your interest in things indie. Which will make you 240 times more attractive to the opposite sex. And you’ll have protection if you manage to trip and roll down Bascom. Which will definitely happen while you’re contemplating the meaning of Elliot Smith lyrics.

So what does “indie” mean? Other than cheap clothes and expensive audiophilic obsessing, it really just means that you are aware of music that hasn’t been sucked through the minds of old white males and spat back out at the public over-produced and trembling and ready to whore itself out. It means that you can see the scars where rock, hip-hop, country, etc. has been neutered by capitalist crusaders and corporate bogeymen.

But “indie” is really all-encompassing; a general term for independent releases from all genres. And now it’s quickly becoming a phrase of the past, as it has no realizable definition.

After Nirvana released Nevermind in 1991, there was a corporate rush to pick up anything edgy or fuzzed-out and anything flannel. This arguably killed off the real “alternative” music burst of the late ’80s, draining the energy out of sub-corporate trailblazers like Dinosaur Jr., Husker Du, the Feelies and other fab-tastic rockers. U2 and R.E.M. led the way for corporate turncoats and pretty quickly the us-against-them laws that bound Gen X musicians and fans (the true “indie” vibe) quickly became a franchiseable, market-oriented selling point. And Kurt Cobain, who transformed into the popular leader of the period, was just as confused as everybody else. He killed himself because he couldn’t stand to be a star, but he didn’t hesitate to sign a major label deal and appear on corporate institutions like MTV and the Rolling Stone. But who wouldn’t want to become a poster boy for the throngs of “Whatever, nevermind” look-alike youth? The Lollapalooza nation of pierced and tattooed masses? Even if it might mean twisting yourself into an impossible tangle of contradicting ideals.

And this corporate takeover, this merger of what was once a true “indie” mindset (however misguided it might have been) and cold, hard cash ultimately paralleled the upsurge of big-box companies and mini-corporate franchises, like Starbucks and Barnes & Noble, which sprung up like insurmountable Gremlin spawn from the bubbling back of a wet mogwai. Everyone knows that Billy should have killed Gizmo off before the creepy little muppet ever had a chance to eat after midnight. Too bad we didn’t see it coming when it came to books, coffee and Blockbuster.

Anyway, Starbucks begat the Backstreet Boys begat the shiny, plastic exterior of our newborn millennia and all that, but so what? Why should anyone care about the minority, the independently released art?

Because these are people making art knowing that there will be no profit, that their art will simply be put out into the world to die a sloppy, lonely death somewhere between the record-needle-hitting vinyl and an uncaring teenager’s eardrum. But this yields the most interesting and heartfelt and passionate work available. The feelings are extreme because they are real. As soon as feelings are paid for, they morph into a sitcom version of reality. And making art because it is an expression of truth is what being “indie” is really all about. The goofy-looking headphones only add to your personal sex appeal.