Savion Glover, at the Joyce: The New Yorker It's hard to believe that Savion Glover, who first gained attention in the Broadway show "The Tap Dance Kid," is almost forty. He was only ten when, as an understudy, he took over the title role. In the years since then, he's appeared in other musicals ("Black and Blue," "Jelly's Last Jam"), won a Tony in his early twenties for choreographing "Bring in "Da Noise, Bring in "Da Funk," and done films and TV shows, spreading his particular brand of urban tap to a wide audience. But perhaps his most lasting influence will be as a teacher. In Newark, his home town, he runs a tap school called HooFeRzCLuB, where he makes sure that pupils know who their tap forebears are and give them proper respect. His latest production, "Savion Glover's STePz," at the Joyce through July 6th, pays homage to some of the tap masters, and along the way cements Glover's own place in its history. Glover's style is marked by unpredictability - it's possible to be lulled by his fine control one moment and jarred by an involuntarily flung arm the next. There is nothing boring about his dancemaking, and watching his latest piece is like going on every ride at the carnival. Glover plunges us into the heart of tap right away, in a sequence called "Miles Mode." As John Coltrane's 1962 composition of the same name kicks in, Glover's guests - Marshall Davis, Jr., Ayodele Casel, Robyn Watson, and Sarah Savelli, all highly regarded hoofers - begin tapping on a raised wooden platform. Dressed in street clothes, the dancers fit neatly into Coltrane's jazz rhythms, setting the tone for what is to come: a primer in how the human body, and its tapping feet, can be a musical instrument in itself. When Glover comes out, there is joyful applause. His audiences are frequently filled with fans and aficionados. In a black shirt and gray pants, his dreadlocks tied back, Glover's rangy body responds to Coltrane's music, plays with it, allowing it to sweep him along but also asserting his own mastery. For a few minutes, he parks himself in the downstage-right corner of the platform, showing us what speed and articulation are, then drifts to his left, and is replaced by Davis, whose movements are more contained, minimal, neater than Glover's. Glover watches from the side, in the half-dark, and looks pleased by what his comrade is doing. Casel, Savelli, and Watson come on, one by one, and personalities emerge: Casel, petite, is lighthearted and warm; Savelli, a genial performer, is more stylized in her mannerisms; Watson moves gently, and is more reserved, but sneaks a grin in unexpectedly. The evening's title refers to more than just dance steps. At the beginning of the third section, "Mission Impossible," the lights come up on two identical squat ziggurats placed upstage, behind the main platform, each with a few steps on two sides. As the familiar TV-show theme plays, Glover and Davis, each on his own set of stairs, face off. The back wall of the theatre, bare to its bricks, is bathed in blue as the men match the percussive intensity of the music and then amplify it, challenging each other to take more risks. Their feet knock the risers and, suddenly, the classic routine of Bill (Bojangles) Robinson in "The Little Colonel" comes to mind. Davis and Glover dance with the steps more than on them - caressing them, brushing them, cajoling them. In "Dexterity," the following section, set to the song of that name by Charlie Parker, the men go at it again, but the tempo is a bit slower, and we're able to relax into their relationship. They mirror each other on their step platforms, two sides of one soul, then forge ahead on their own. In the program, among the usual title-page credits, is this: "Improvography by Gregory Hines and Jimmy Slyde." It's Glover's way of saying that "STePz" contains improvised parts inspired by these giants of the form. The duets for Glover and Davis especially have the look of improvisation; the dancing never seems hesitant or unformed, but certain phrases often appear to be a pleasant surprise to both men, as though they've just spoken poems they made up on the spot. Jazz seems the perfect music for Glover's tap - earthy, gritty, nocturnal. But he also uses Prince's "When the Lights Go Down," Shostakovich's Chamber Symphony, Op. 110 (which has a comic bit poking fun at ballet), Benny Goodman's version of the "Bugle Call Rag" (to which the women, in heels and dressed in black and white, do their own stair routine), and a Sammy Davis, Jr., rendition of "Mr. Bojangles." This last, a solo for Glover, gives the show its name. The song has a retro feel, and its simple arrangement - beginning with bass and whistling - stills the air in the theatre, clearing it of the click of ten tap shoes and more boisterous music. Glover, lit by a spot, moves quickly and lightly, skimming through his steps, then softens and slows. He has a casualness, a freedom, as he hangs with the song's triplets and then takes off on extended riffs that, with his arms moving jerkily to unheard rhythms, make it seem as though he's fighting the song. But he's with it, and with Bojangles and Sammy, too. This kind of introspection seems well earned. Glover is, after all, an old man of forty. But he knows how to pull out the stops, too. The evening's final section, "Stevie Delicious," to Stevie Wonder's "Sir Duke," is a rousing group number, full of satisfying unison, that any Broadway show would be happy to have. All five dancers are onstage, closely following the song's infectious beat, the tapping reinforcing what you know about the music but adding embellishments, enriching the experience. Tap done by pros like these is electrifying - sparks seem to fly when bodies move so fast, on the edge of abandon but in complete control. Photograph by Elijah Paul.