Months before Barack Obama gave his keynote speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, a couple of colleagues of mine were touting him as the next president.

Because we were in Chicago and I could see nothing about Obama that set him apart from any other smiling empty suit, I wrote off the presidential talk as hometown hype.

But Obama gave that famous speech, Hillary Clinton never managed to become likable, and so here we are.

The media began flirting with Obama after that speech. And once it became clear Al Gore was not going to enter the presidential race, the media’s love for Obama bloomed. They’ve given him a remarkably easy ride ever since.

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A superficial but not insignificant measure of that love is the title of “rock star” given to Obama by news readers, headline writers and pundits. When one of them says it, the laziness thought so common among journalists sets in and they all say it.

As one who ardently loves both good music and the English language, I’m asking for a moratorium on calling any politician a rock star, especially Obama.

With true rock stars there’s always the chance of something unexpectedly creative or irresistibly primal.

Like Jimi Hendrix torching his guitar at Monterey, David Bowie’s costumed theatrics or anything Elvis Presley did before going into the Army.

And unless one thinks a candidate’s skin tone is a quality that has something to do with governing, Obama brings nothing new to the table.

On the rare occasions that he does answer a question directly, he does so with the stock liberal answer.

But aren’t women passing out at his campaign speeches, just like for Elvis or the Beatles? Assuming those events aren’t being staged, it’s much more likely that these women are projecting their hopes and dreams upon an empty canvas more than willing to accept such unreserved praise.

To see some real rock stars at work, catch Martin Scorsese’s “Shine a Light,” a concert film on the Rolling Stones in theaters now.

At the advanced age of 64, Mick Jagger is still the best, most enthusiastic bad dancer on the planet. He prances, hops, twists and wiggles so outrageously, I thought for a minute that I was actually seeing Mike Myers’ famous impression of Mick.

But he’s just doing his thing. If we think he’s too old, too skinny or too wrinkled to be up there, that’s our problem.

Guitarist Ronnie Wood and drummer Charlie Watts are doing their thing too. Show up for sound check, then read the paper or play snooker pool backstage for a couple of hours, then go out and play a show good enough to embarrass someone old enough to be their great-grandchild.

And then there’s that happy pirate Keith Richards, who will probably outlive his contemporaries and thus become the last of the real rock stars. The look of pure joy never leaves his face, whether he’s watching Mick act the fool or throwing thunderbolt riffs and lightning lead lines from his Telecaster. As long as he’s got a guitar and a carton of cigarettes, he’ll be happy. I don’t think Kanye West, the guys in Nickelback or the poseurs on “American Idol” would be similarly satisfied.

And for true rock stars, connecting with an adoring crowd is part of the rush of a good time. But Obama is merely manipulating his crowds in order to achieve power.

Aaron Keith Harris writes about politics, the media, pop culture and music and is a regular contributor to National Review Online and Bluegrass Unlimited. He can be reached at aaronkeithharris@gmail.com.