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As a tribute to Allen Toussaint, who turns 70 this week, here is MM's Rob Partridge meeting the diffident genius of New Orleans R&B and soul as he prepares to step out of the shadows and perform for the first time as a solo artist.--Barney Hoskyns, RBP Editorial Editor

THEY KNOW, of course, which one is Dr. John. The Swiss photographers huddle around the stage, clicking their Nikons like American tourists determined to capture Rome in a day.

The scene: a chaotic rehearsal session at the Montreux Jazz Festival, where Dr. John's New Orleans package played before their recent British date. Brief snatches of songs abruptly interspersed with commands to get the goddamn sound balance right. And then once more into "Iko Iko," while all around people just gawp.

But sitting in the front row, all alone, is a young black guy. He sits through it all, unpestered and unrecognized. But underneath that anonymity, Allen Toussaint is as nervous as hell.

This was it. In a few hours time Toussaint would be announced on stage and he'd get up there, in front of a capacity audience, the TV cameras and all, and play the piano. His debut stage appearance as an artist.

As late as the previous day, however, Mac Rebennack--Dr. John--was doubting whether Toussaint would actually perform. The New Orleans package show originally billed Toussaint as an artist. But he cancelled out of the Paris show a few days earlier, relegating himself to the position of musical director.

Toussaint, it seems, finds it difficult to cope with the pressures on an artist. He's plagued with self-doubts about his vocal capabilities, for one thing, and feels ill at ease on stage.

But this time, courage conquers nerves. Late into the concert, during Dr. John's set, Toussaint comes on stage, sits at the piano and plays "I Don't Know Right From Wrong," "Happy Time" and "Goin' Down Slowly." He doesn't sing, but there's something extraordinary about his performance. His piano playing, deeply soaked in New Orleans' syncopation, is richly inventive and always compelling.

It's a delight, a triumph. Toussaint as an artist works fine. But even with the applause and the congratulations he feels, well, uncomfortable on stage.

But the recording studios, now, that's his real home territory. Toussaint is one of the few really creative producers of our time, responsible for many of the classic rock 'n' roll hits from New Orleans.

Toussaint works with finesse, delicately shaping his music and in the process creating, not only a fine stream of hit records, but also producing a style which has influenced a decade of R&B. That fat, funk-laden sound of Stax Records at their best, for instance, owes much to Toussaint's work.

Anyone who's heard Lee Dorsey's big records has heard Toussaint. Ernie K-Doe, Jessie Hill, the Showmen, Dr. John, Chris Kenner, Aaron Neville, Benny Spellman, the Meters, Irma Thomas--their biggest hits came courtesy of Toussaint.

He remains, however, a slightly anonymous person, frequently ignored in the rush to wrap accolades around the next superstar. His name seldom appears in headlines, more often it's in small italics at the bottom of album credits. But that seems to be the way Toussaint wants it.

"Hell, I'd rather record other people. I'm inspired by other people, but I'm not inspired by my own voice. The tunes I do for other people I don't do justice to when I sing them," he comments.

Read the rest of Partridge's piece at Rock's Backpages, the online library of rock journalism, at www.rocksbackpages.com. Over 12,000 articles by the greatest writers and from the most legendary rock publications of the last 40 years.