We're really not all that upset about missing this year's Coachella. We can't overstate our disgust with Jack Johnson's marquee placement and, please: Vampire Weekend? Thhbbbbbbbb!

That said, being there to see Prince perform a cover of Radiohead would probably have been a delightful experience. If only one didn't have to wade through Paris Hilton et al to have had it.

Coachella banished hippies from this year's festival but still allowed all of these tools to partake in the action. Life isn't fair.

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You going to Coachella this year? We aren't. It's a rule of ours to not attend events that give Jack Johnson equal billing to motherfucking Prince. You know who else isn't going? Hippies. But they're staying away for an entirely different reason: because they've been banished by law! Don't believe us? After the jump, check out the anti-hippie laws this year's Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival has enacted, and consider what a tease it is to have such harsh rules at a Jack Johnson show. (emphasis ours on the really bigoted ones)

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When I saw Interpol at Coachella, it was one of the most yawn-inducing things I've ever been witness to. And then I hear songs like this and I go, "Ah, yes, I forgot: They play music that's more good than boring but still kinda boring." I recommend you don't see them live, but you should definitely buy the records. Or download them; what the fuck do I care?

PS I think this song's about cooling it with the drugs; moderation not abstinence. Can't argue with that.

Pictures and videos of Rage Against the Machine at Coachella can't really begin to explain the bigness of their set. It's like taking a picture of a leaf blowing during a tornado: Sure, it conveys a sense of being windy, but it's a definite understatement.

Rage's reunion show—seven years in the making—was played to a sturdy mass of, at the very least, 60,000 to 70,0000 people; all moving up and down and off the ground, and singing along with every song. Watching that many bodies move in unison is slightly intimidating, but it's also kinda beautiful. Actually seeing tens of thousands of people agreeing on something is rare.

Sadly, after the show, it seems that many of the Rage fans also agreed that throwing their shit all over the place was acceptable. My problem here isn't that I'm wanting to save Mother Earth—because honestly, all the garbage from Coachella combined is like the nail on the small toe on the body of world pollution. My problem is that someone is gonna have to clean this crap up, and that person's probably gonna be Mexican. It's typical bullshit: All day a bunch of spoiled hippies will listen to music about peace and love and then they'll "rage" about how fucked up the government is and how it's an "evil empire" that's not supporting immigrants, and then, after they're off in their beds, immigrants are bending over to clean up their goddamn messes for them.

Because I'm not as quick on the shutter as I would like, here's some photos from Coachella not obtained by my hand.

I had seen Tommy Lee doofing around, and I briefly saw Tara Reid, who—don't fucking sue me—appeared to be wasted ("appeared," kay?). But the rest of these people I missed. In case you can't tell, that's Kimberly Stewart dressed up as General L'Oreal.

If you don't know of Blonde Redhead, please look into this band. They're one third Japanese woman and two thirds Italian twins who moved to Canada, and they're great (sometimes immigration makes things better).

Their Saturday show was absolutely phenomenal. Kazu Makino, the lead singer, laces all these airy beats with such gossamer vocals that if you sway too hard with the music you might shatter the whole damn thing. It was one of the best shows of the festival, and they refuse to broadcast their images on the giant screen behind them. Instead they've posted up that tennis player with too many legs. Get into subtlety.

PS Kazu played keys atop a horse bench. Ummm…that's reason enough to like them.

Saturday started with a party at a desert oasis where, I'm sad to say, a young lady I didn't know called me out for being in the exact same clothes I had worn the night before. Wonderful!

I changed, and everything got better from there.

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Day one was a bit of a scorcher, pushing triple digit temperatures by about noon.

I did all the hot work so that you can check it out from the comfort of your desk.

Stay cool while I sweat, after the jump.

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Thursday night was Filter magazine's Coachella Kickoff party. There was free Heineken, good DJs, bad dancing and great times.

Pretend like you're there after the jump.

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Cheers All,

I'm composing this while embedded deep in a Spanish-style villa somewhere in Palm Springs, recovering from a long night while simultaneously trying to prepare myself for an even longer one. Just the thought of the oppressive heat outside is making me so sweaty the girl I was seated next to subtly—but surely—inched away. I am tired, I have a headache and I am very excited: It's Coachella.

Starting last night and continuing throughout the weekend, I will be gallivanting about what is arguably America's greatest music festival. I've a digital camera, some all access passes, and a good attitude, and I'll be updating all weekend.

I'll do my best to snap some celebrity photos (last year I saw Danny DeVito nodding his head to Kanye West! Serious!), but I can't promise anything as far as that goes. I can promise unsteady shots of unsteady bands, party pics of marginally important music industry types and scathing reviews of at least two musicians I like who, I will proclaim, "suck live."

In short, I'll be doing my best to give you a glimpse into the center of the sweaty cluster of bodies, beers and guitars that is Coachella. I hope you'll join me in the pit.

Check in all weekend long.

Best,
Cord