LEAST KNOWN OF EARLY STARS : FATS DOMINO: THE QUIET GIANT OF ROCK ‘N’ ROLL

Everyone from Motley Crue head bangers to U2 disciples is familiar with such early rock giants as Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and Chuck Berry.

But Fats Domino--who is believed to have sold more records than anyone except Elvis in the ‘50s--may need an introduction to most of today’s teen-agers.

One reason is that Domino--whose hits ranged from the melancholy “Ain’t That a Shame” to the invigorating “I’m in Love Again”--never exhibited the rebellion and flamboyance that fueled teen passions and fascinated the media during rock’s formative years.

He came across as a gentle, cuddly performer who just happened to make great records. That’s not the kind of stuff that legends are made of. Domino’s lack of media profile was compounded in recent years by infrequent touring and rare TV appearances.

However, the early rock star didn’t need an introduction last weekend at the Memorial Auditorium here.

Several hundred fans--most of them in their 40s--gave Domino a standing ovation when he walked on stage Saturday night for his first California concert in nearly 20 years.

Martha Fernandez, 39, seemed as excited as her own teen-age daughter might be at a Prince concert. “I’ve always loved Fats’ records, but this is the first time I’ve been able to see him in person,” she said.

“When I was a kid, my mother wouldn’t let me go to rock shows. She thought they were too dangerous. I always told her Fats’ music was different. It wasn’t wild . . . it was just fun.”

And fun it was--in the ‘50s and today.

Domino’s music, which helped define the rich New Orleans dance-blues tradition, blends blues, country and Cajun influences into an inviting package that has much of the warm, down-home spirit that makes L.A.’s Los Lobos so appealing.

Saturday’s show--which also starred Rick Nelson--was part of a brief tour that will include a stop Thursday at the Universal Amphitheatre. The show will be taped for a nostalgia-minded TV special.

But it’s wrong to think that only the old-timers will enjoy Domino. Almost 40 years after he recorded his first record in a New Orleans studio, Domino is still a delight.

Though this tour is receiving far less fanfare than last year’s Everly Brothers reunion shows, Saturday’s performance was just as essential a reminder of this fact: There was more than rebellion and flamboyance behind the rock revolution three decades ago. There was also a lot of talent and heart.

Offstage, Domino doesn’t crave the spotlight the way many early rockers do. In his mid-50s, he’s a shy man who seemed far more comfortable in front of 5,000 fans than he does during a dressing room interview.

In fact, Domino only said a half-dozen words the first time I met him a decade ago in Las Vegas, and one of them was goodby. This shyness is another reason he hasn’t received as much media attention as his early success merits.

Dave Bartholomew, who co-wrote most of Domino’s hits and still fronts his 10-piece band, knows Fats like a brother--and he likes to reflect on their years together.

At the hotel here before Saturday’s show, Bartholomew, 65, explained, “Fats could work as much as anyone if he wanted to, but he just don’t want to be on the road constantly anymore. He was 19 when he started and he stayed on the road for 30 years. I’m talking about Christmas, New Year’s, Thanksgiving, all those days--and you eventually get tired.”

About Domino’s relative lack of recognition, Bartholomew continued that “one reason is Fats always had less television because he’s a sort of modest-type person. He’s not a flamboyant-type person. On stage, he’s got a lot of jewelry, but that’s about it.

“But we both are content with what has happened to us. The records are known all over the world . . . and Fats is very comfortable. He owns a lot of property and stuff. . . . We just got back from Europe and it was very successful. We played in Finland, right near the Russian border, and they loved him. I feel like they love him everywhere, but I think they are a little more up on our music and (rock history) in Europe than the people in America.”

Domino arrived at the auditorium just before it was time to go on stage, but he seemed in good spirits. He had a quick, warm smile for a photographer as he walked into the dressing room, and he even sat still for a few questions.

“You know,” he said, fidgeting with the huge piano-shaped diamond ring on his right pinkie, “I feel I’ve been blessed. I never dreamed my life would turn out like this.

“As a boy in New Orleans, I had all sorts of jobs--an ice man, made bedsprings, lumber yard. Then, I started playing in a club and Dave heard me. I didn’t know anything about making a record until he said, ‘We’re going into the studio next week . . . write something.’ ”

Their first record together, “The Fat Man,” was a huge R&B; hit, eventually selling a million copies. But it was “Ain’t That a Shame” in 1955 that introduced him the pop audience. It was the first of three dozen Top 40 hits--more than the Supremes, Beach Boys, Frank Sinatra or the Bee Gees.

“I was lucky enough to write songs that carry a good beat and tell a real story that people could feel was their story, too--something that old people or the kids could both enjoy,” Domino suggested.

When it was time for the show, Domino walked eagerly to the stage. “I love being on stage,” he said. “I just wish all the musicians would like it like I do. I could stay out there three hours if the sound was good and the people were liking it.”

That joy is what comes across in his performance. Domino’s band, led by Bartholomew, engaged in a lot of flashy, show-biz gestures, at one point marching through the auditorium.

But the heart of the evening was Domino’s boogie-flavored piano stylings and winsome vocals. He didn’t kick the piano keys the way Jerry Lee and Little Richard once did, but as he bobbed and weaved energetically, it was easy to picture him 40 years ago in those small New Orleans clubs, playing for nothing but the love of music.

The audience, too, seemed to drift back in time. Some fans danced in front of their seats; others put their arms around their husbands or wives.

Afterwards, Martha Fernandez wondered where the stage door was. “This might sound silly, but I’d like to tell him how much his music has meant to me--and even get his autograph. I’m too old for that kind of stuff, but there is something about his music that makes you feel like a kid again.”