Beyond the Steps: Building Musicality and Swagger in Tap

You’ve got your shuffles crisp, your flaps clean, and your time steps up to speed. You can execute a drill with precision and your technique is solid. So why does it sometimes feel like you’re just… making noise? Like there’s a chasm between what your feet are doing and the music you yearn to create?

Welcome to the frontier. This is where tap dance transcends choreography and becomes conversation. Where you stop being a dancer who taps and start being a musician who dances. This is about building your musicality and cultivating your swagger.

Tap isn't just dance you hear. It's music you see.

Musicality: It's Not Just Counting to Eight

Musicality in tap is the art of intentional sound. It’s your personal dialogue with the music—any music. It’s the difference between hitting a note and playing a note.

            Try This: Put on a song with a strong bass line—not traditional tap fare, maybe a hip-hop or funk track. Don’t dance to it yet. Just listen. Now, instead of finding the main beat, tap the syncopated rhythm of the hi-hat. Then, try to mimic the decay of a synth note with a slow, dragging brush. You’re not learning steps; you’re learning to speak the language.
        

Start listening to music differently. Deconstruct it. Where is the drummer placing the ghost notes? How does the bassist create groove? Your feet now have the vocabulary. Musicality is about choosing the right word, with the right inflection, at the right time.

The Anatomy of Swagger

Swagger isn’t arrogance. It’s the embodied confidence that comes from knowing your sound is yours alone. It’s the relaxed shoulders when the steps are frantic. It’s the smirk that says, “I meant to drop that note late.” It’s the physical manifestation of your musical voice.

Swagger is built in the quiet moments: the slight hold before a cascade of rhythms, the casual hand in your pocket while your feet execute a complex phrase, the eye contact with the band when you trade fours. It says you’re not fighting the rhythm; you’re in it, co-creating it.

The Practice Shift: From Repetition to Exploration

To develop this, you must shift your practice mindset.

Jam, Don't Just Drill: Set aside 10 minutes of every practice to just improvise. No mirrors. No judgment. Listen and respond.
Steal From Everywhere: The phrasing of a sax solo, the flow of a poet, the cadence of a city street. Your musicality is a collage of everything you love.
Embrace "Mistakes": A misplaced accent isn’t wrong—it’s a variation. Repeat it. Explore it. It might be your new signature.

            The Ultimate Exercise: Record yourself improvising for one minute. Listen back. Not to critique your technique, but to ask: “If I heard this as music, would it interest me?” Find one moment you loved. Isolate it. Name it. Build on it tomorrow.
        

Your Soundprint

Every great tap dancer leaves a sonic fingerprint. Gregory Hines had a whispering, conversational flow. Savion Glover has a percussive, thunderous density. Michelle Dorrance has a quirky, melodic intricacy. They aren’t just executing steps; they are projecting their unique musical sensibility through iron and chrome.

Your journey now is to discover yours. It lives in the space between the steps, in the silence between the notes, in the attitude you wear when you let the rhythm take over.

So lace up. Put on a track that moves your soul. And don’t just dance to it. Talk to it. Argue with it. Compliment it. Laugh with it. The steps are your alphabet. Now go write your poetry.