It was a flash of genuine emotion, and it said something about the 2002 version of the Rolling Stones, who began a three-show siege Wednesday with a performance at Veterans Stadium, the Pretenders opening. After all this time, night upon wearying night playing "Brown Sugar" and "Jumpin' Jack Flash," these guys somehow still have the spark.

For 2 hours, 10 minutes, Mick Jagger sang like a man possessed, Keith Richards made his guitar talk, and the large revue of an ensemble, with backing singers and a horn section, kept the crowd of about 45,000 enthralled.

They might be rich cynics who resent having to live up to their billing as "the Greatest Rock-and-Roll Band in the World," but on some level they're still believers, still into the music, still moved (if not redeemed) by its raw power.

And as the ambling, refreshingly loose performance of "Can't Always Get" suggested, there's maybe even more of the spark flying this time than on previous tours. It was there in the cross-cutting Richards guitar that defined "Street Fighting Man," and in Jagger's bloodthirsty interpretation of "Sympathy for the Devil." It was there when drummer Charlie Watts rolled out a gritty backbeat for "Midnight Rambler," and when, several minutes later, Jagger slowed the tempo to a crawl and blew fire through the harmonica.

Though the band offered a relentless barrage of hits - with several surprising covers, including the O'Jays' "Love Train" and a magnificent rendition of Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" - little of the music, even the fireworks finale, "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," had the autopilot feeling of previous "Stones-in-stadiums" extravaganzas.

Just about every selection, even Richards' scrappy "Before They Make Me Run," was fiery, partly because, after years of practice, the band has figured out exactly how long to ride a groove, how many laps Jagger can do without jeopardizing his voice. Vamps such as "Undercover" or "Jumpin' Jack Flash" were economical blasts that ended before they could become tedious.

The staging and lighting helped. Six massive lighting trusses hovered over the Stones like greedy fingers, but the performance area was open and uncluttered, a welcome contrast to the carnival-midway atmosphere of, say, the Steel Wheels tour.

The main feature of the stage was a massive screen, with a picture so sharp it made the Glimmer Twins look like the Grimace Twins, revealing every hard-earned line on their creased faces. Most of the time, the screen offered close-ups of the onstage action. Among several more ambitious bits was a kinky Japanimation vignette during "Honky Tonk Women," featuring the band's trademark lolling tongue (pierced for the occasion) and a dominatrix.

What's most amazing about the Rolling Stones isn't that they're still heroically plying their trade - the bluesmen who were Jagger and Richards' early heroes performed, convincingly, until they dropped - but that they have managed to hang onto the essential energy and spirit that once drove rock-and-roll.

There are plenty of academic distinctions between rock-and-roll and its more earthbound descendent, "rock," associated with bands such as U2 and Pearl Jam - the tempos, the serious melodies, the severe backbeats.

Hearing the Stones gleefully tear through "Jumpin' Jack Flash" was to be reminded of the paramusical qualities, the pure joy and hot-rod rashness that were equally important to the mix - and have largely evaporated as the music has evolved.

When the Stones tried to "rock," on the thuddy new song "Don't Stop," the result was painful, feeble. When they rolled, they were loose and unruly and positively ferocious. It was impossible to miss the Chuck Berry bounce in Richards' guitar phrasing, the subtle Delta-blues uptick in Watts' drumming that goosed the band from behind, or the sense that inside these hit-parade songs of yesterday is an eternal rhythm, still live and vibrant, that deserves to be celebrated, and preserved.