Music writer Keith Spera travleled to New York City with Fats Domino last week. This is the third of his reports from the road.

Even by Chelsea standards, Thursday afternoon was funky.

Three doors down from a scrap metal processor on a hard-bitten stretch of West 27th Street, guitarist Leo Nocentelli, keyboardist Ivan Neville, bassist Nick Daniels and saxophonist Donald Harrison Jr. shift Stevie Wonder's "Higher Ground" into low gear. The New Orleanians' soundcheck is also a rehearsal for tonight's Fats Domino tribute concert, a benefit for the Tipitina's Foundation.

On most nights, this cavernous room adjacent to the Pink Elephant is a black-walled dance club with balcony VIP couches and deejays. The 1,100-capacity main room has also hosted the likes of John Mayer, Lou Reed, Maroon 5 and the Counting Crows.

Thursday night's Domino shindig is a farewell for the club formerly known as crobar. Next week, it shuts down to be transformed into a swank nightspot. Events director Lee Blumer couldn't be more pleased with the New Orleans send-off. As an 11-year-old in 1957, her mind was blown by Fats Domino at the Brooklyn Paramount. Twelve years later, she helped produce the original Woodstock.

So she knows music. "What a way to go," Blumer says of tonight's show. "This is an amazing event. My heart is expanding from this."

Tonight's guest list runs the gamut from pioneering rapper Doug E. Fresh to an heir to the Walgreens fortune. "Sacred steel" guitarist Robert Randolph might sit in, among others. New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg is due at 8:45 p.m. to present Domino with the keys to the city.

The fervent hope of the Tipitina's Foundation staffers who have accompanied Fats to New York is that he'll get onstage for a song or two. But no one is going to push the nearly 80-year-old Domino - especially since he must be up by 7 a.m. Friday to appear on "The Today Show."

"You've got to expect the unexpected, and be prepared," Neville says of what Fats may or may not do tonight. "And this is a good band to do it."

As Neville, Nocentelli et al rehearse the Meters classic "Looka Py-Py," Domino arrives with his traveling companion Walter Miles and Tipitina's owner Roland von Kurnatowski. He immediately seeks refuge in an adjacent VIP room. Academy Award-winning documentary director Barbara Kopple - in the vanguard of the media onslaught expected tonight -- follows with her film crew.

Thirty minutes later Domino emerges and the musicians take a break. One by one, they pay their respects as the documentary cameras roll. Most have never met Fats, let alone performed with him. Now is their chance.

But no one seems to be in any hurry - this Big Apple soundcheck is moving at Big Easy speed. Tipitina's Foundation executive director Bill Taylor, who organized the concert and talked Domino into traveling to New York, is getting anxious.

Finally the musicians are back onstage, feeling out "Blueberry Hill" as Domino observes. He checks on the key -- B-flat.

"We need Fats!" Nocentelli announces. Domino is ready, much to everyone's relief. He lays his hands on the keys of a black Yamaha piano and launches "Blueberry Hill." The band swings in behind him.

For the next 10 minutes, Domino reacquaints himself with the arrangement; Nocentelli serves as bandleader as they try to find their way. Every camera and eye in the room is focused on the Fat Man.

By 2:35 p.m., he's heading offstage. "That's all you gonna do?" Nocentelli asks. In a perfect world, Domino would also try "Ain't That a Shame" or maybe "I'm Walkin'." For now, "Blueberry Hill" must suffice.

Back in Manhattan's Theater District, I rendezvous with Domino, Von Kurnatowski and Miles at the famed Carnegie Deli. Domino is in a playful mood; to underscore his need for sustenance, he shows off his loose-fitting gold wristwatch.

When a bowl of the Carnegie's signature bright-green pickles arrives, Domino eyes them suspiciously. He spots a massive mound of tuna salad on a nearby diner's plate, and decides that's what he wants -- to go.

But first, a star-struck Carnegie manager - not the same Egyptian-born manager who did not recognize Domino's name the previous night - asks to take a picture next to the big fake pickle near the door. "Rock 'n roll means Fats Domino, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Bo Diddley," Dennis Howard says. "That's it. They invented it."

Like Lee Blumer, Howard also experienced Domino in his prime at the Brooklyn Paramount. "He was the best," Howard says. "He played the piano like a typewriter. Nobody else came close."

I remind Domino that his old pal Lloyd Price is slated to drop by tonight's show. "I played piano on Lloyd's 'Lawdy Miss Clawdy,'" Domino says, a bit of rhythm & blues trivia I'd forgotten. "And on his 'Mailman Blues.'"

Out on the 7th Avenue sidewalk, Renee Dimarzo is soliciting passers-by for donations to the United Homeless Organization. She sits behind a card table topped by a 5-gallon water jug/tip jar. Domino pulls out $20. "I could be homeless one day," he says.

Dimarzo thanks him for his donation. Then Von Kurnatowski leans in and whispers, "That's Fats Domino."

Her eyes go wide. "Fats Domino! You're awesome!" She hugs him, gushes, insists on taking a photo beneath the Carnegie Deli awning. He's happy to oblige. "Thanks for asking," he says.

Dimarzo is smitten. "He's got a beautiful smile," she says. "And he's very sweet. Very humble."

Domino moves on. He spies the generous buffet inside the 55th Street Deli - more provisions are apparently needed. He loads up on spaghetti and meatballs, boiled eggs, pound cake -- this in addition to the mound of tuna salad from the Carnegie. "It's like this is my last meal," he jokes.

Back on the street, Domino's car and driver are nowhere to be found. So we head up 7th Avenue toward the hotel a block and a half away. "I'm walkin' now," Domino says, dodging a yellow taxi at the corner of 56th Street. The temperature hovers in the low 40s; the sun has yet to make an appearance. Domino pauses under heat lamps warming the entrance of the Park Central Hotel. "I'll see you all later," he says, grinning.

We pass the hallowed Carnegie Hall. "They made a lot of live records there," Domino notes. "Not me."

Back at the hotel, he plans to tuck into his food and rest. Earlier, his Carnegie Deli fan Dennis Howard had asked, "Does Fats still perform?"

We'll know tonight.