A couple of nights ago E. Pluribus Gergely called me to ask if I’d ever watched Martin Scorsese’s Mick Jagger’s Rolling Stones (aka Shine a Light), the popular, star-studded Stones concert film from a year or two ago that critics agreed was their “best concert film since Let’s Spend the Night Together.” I had not. Although I’d had the opportunity to watch it for free on cable for months, I could not bring myself to watch even a second of what would surely be a shameful spectacle of two of my all-time favorite artists, the Stones and Scorsese, collaborating to get into the ripe pants of the likes of Fergie.

Last night, while waiting to watch Casablanca for the 263rd time I allowed myself a 10-minute peak at this movie, which was playing on basic cable.

I caught Jack White enthusiastically and badly wailing on the boring “Loving Cup” like a 15-year-old boy pulled out of a high school talent show. I can understand being intimidated by singing alongside even a long-washed-up Jagger, but White’s supposed to be a pro. He can’t complete a verse without falling out of character and out of key. Get it together, man! And find your own voice, even if it’s that whiny, “scary” voice you put on for most of your own music!

Then I saw Jagger awkwardly strain to hold a continuous flow of notes on “As Tears Go By.” The guy sounded like he was ready for a nursing home despite the fact that his hair was as healthy and well conditioned as any 68-year-0ld man’s hair has ever been. No wonder Marty’s cameras rarely strayed from Mick!

Finally I saw the Stones play “Some Girls,” with Jagger once more hogging the spotlight by bashing out the song’s two chords whenever he wasn’t talk-singing. Here’s what really irked me: the band bypassed the “dirty” verse on “Some Girls,” the “Black girls just wanna get fucked all night…” verse. In the theatrical release did the band really wuss out and skip that verse, or was it cut for the VH1 broadcast?

Oh, and Keef is as pathetic as anyone in that organization for writing a 500-page, holier-than-thou memoir after appearing in that slop!

And my man Marty should retire from making films and trying to bed cheerleaders. He can, however, continue to talk enthusiastically about the obscure, old films of his childhood.