Went to the Beachland Ballroom last week for the Tommy Castro Rhythm and Blues Revue. I had never heard before of Castro or his revue stars, keyboardist Deanna Bogart or guitarist Ronnie Baker Brooks. But I had heard of the harmonica player, Magic Dick, who used to play for the J. Geils Band. That's why I was there. 

 If you had seen the J. Geils Band back in the 1970s as many times as I did, you would understand my desire to touch the hem of Magic Dick's garment. I saw them at Public Hall, Kent State and even Madison Square Garden. And those are just the three concerts I remember most. There were so many more. 

 The J. Geils Band was the most kick-butt, high-energy rhythm and blues-rock outfit ever to suck oxygen. Early on, they would routinely play third on a bill of five bands, and when they were done wringing out the audience like a wet beef burrito, people wouldn't stick around for the headliners. 

 They were the last band in the world you wanted opening for you. That's why they soon became headliners themselves. If you want a taste of what they were like, get the live album "Full House." 

 Lead singer Peter Wolf was the funky, motor-mouthed figurehead, but Magic Dick brought the sucker punch in every show with, among other songs, his harmonica classic "Whammer Jammer." 

 The Geils band broke up in 1985. The opportunity to see Magic Dick (Richard Salwitz) again seemed, well, Magic. (Wolf used to introduce him by saying, "On the lickin' stick, Mr. Magic Dick!") 

 The house was full for the Castro Revue. These were my people. Fifty and over, graybeards and their gals who still love to rock. The band was hot. Deanna Bogart, why haven't we heard of her? Ronnie Baker Brooks, the son of blues legend Lonnie Brooks? Also killer. 

 I happened to catch Magic Dick in the lobby. He couldn't talk at the time, but we arranged a phone interview later. Once on stage, he made the crowd go wild. Who knew he could sing? Then he brought the house down with his signature classic. 

 During the interview, he told me about growing up and getting acquainted with his Uncle Harry's collection of jazz records. How he met his former bandmates J. Geils and Danny Klein at Worcester Polytechnic Institute in Massachusetts, where they were all in engineering school. J. Geils was the first band he was in. There was a hint of pride in his voice when he described how the band used to "devastate" audiences. 

 Earlier in the evening, I met a dad, Jim Shannon, who had brought his 10-year-old son, Joey, to the show. The kid is an aspiring rock drummer and guitarist. 

 I went back to my seat and caught guitar-man Ronnie Baker Brooks. He was ripping through the frets and sweats. The audience was pumped. Then he left the stage, still playing, moving through the crowd. This is stuff you don't see at arena shows. It's classic Buddy Guy roadhouse schtick. 

 Halfway back on the left side, Brooks found Joey Shannon. While still blistering his way through a classic blues number, he handed a pick to Joey. The kid didn't hesitate. They made beautiful blues together while the crowd went wild. 

 "That kid will never be the same," his dad told me later. 

 Is Joey Shannon a blues star in the making? If he is, I can brag about seeing his first gig. It was nice to know the magic isn't always in the past. 

 Sometimes it's in the moment