On Feb. 1 and Feb. 2, Twyla Tharp Dance celebrated part of its 60th-anniversary Diamond Jubilee tour with Third Coast Percussion and pianist Vladimir Rumyantsev at the Detroit Opera House. The first half consisted of Tharp’s Olivier-nominated “Diabelli,” set to Beethoven’s Diabelli, variations with Rumyantsev at the helm. After intermission, a new arrangement of Phillip Glass’ Aguas da Amazonia was played by Third Coast Percussion and flutist Constance Volk to premiere SLACKTIDE, a work to commemorate Tharp’s six decades of choreographing.

With an all-black background, dancers in tuxedo-printed leotards pranced onto stage, and the show began. With only a solo piano riffing it to Beethoven, the jazzy choreography spoke for itself. Theatricality was in full swing as the dancers mimicked actions of gossip and chatter. The experience mirrored watching “Downton Abbey” when the nosy characters would scheme and plot.

The duos were best, with enviable partner-work that solidified the audiences’ engagement as each pair had their moment to shine. Although the group work was enjoyable, the chemistry buzzing off the duos was much more compelling.

The men appeared to receive more memorable choreography. In one instance, a shock of laughter almost escaped when feigned butt pats were given from one dancer to another. Many of the unserious brawling scenes between the men accentuated a brotherly dynamic. One of the best male partner brawl scenes occurred when a pair was fighting to block the other from standing at the front of the stage.

Childlike fun defined the group dynamic. Circling to form “ring around the rosie” was a repeated motif that attested to the youthful energy. Charming, cutesy and all things whimsical, this performance proved how choreography set to a simple piano can be just as captivating as a ballet.

After intermission, the mood drastically shifted as Third Coast Percussion performed their album from the pit. A single shard of light pierced the stage as alien-like dancers wearing mismatched black attire enveloped themselves in the percussive ecosystem. Smoke trickled onto the stage until the backdrop began to change colors from its initial dense black. Each color corresponded to the varying moods of the tracks, from yellow to blue to pink and everything in between.

Ombre colors penetrated each transition, and near the end, the changes became so smooth and gradual that they invoked the natural passage of time. Sometimes, changes provoked roaring waves and a deviation of tides, while other times they signaled the start of a new day through an inspiring sunrise. As an audience member, it was easy to group each track and mood through the colors. Third Coast Percussion’s PVC pipes made an appearance during “Pink,” heightening the energy. During “Lilac,” the already-fluid dancing elevated to become even more languid.

The dancers clearly followed the album’s unfolding narrative, as they could shift from emulating staccato beats to moving like they were speaking French with their limbs. They would fluctuate from following the lead of the percussion and the flute. “Beige,” wasn’t a favorite, as the lack of saturation stood out from the other colors and its choreography seemed to serve as a transition into more complex ideas instead of holding its own.

As a whole, the performers formed a cohesive machine and some patterns from the Beethoven reappeared in a mature version. There was a lot of leapfrog action, where dancers would jump off one another’s back. On paper it seems odd, but it somehow worked.

The instrumentation set this album apart. Volk’s flute playing elegantly perched atop the rich layers of percussion, adding a refreshing color change. The rivers that branch off from the Amazon had their own unique aura. Third Coast Percussion has a history of creating and customizing their instruments, and this performance was no different. They crafted marimbas made of glass and red oak planks, in addition to a set of chromatically tuned PVC pipes. As a music performance student, most percussion instruments are familiar, but auxiliary or newly created instruments are a whole other beast. In a preliminary listening weeks before the performance, I was stunned when a percussion student could accurately guess at things like what noise was most likely produced by the glass marimba, just from obtaining the list of instruments being played.

As the performance came to a close, pairs began waltzing around stage, using their drive and propulsion to assimilate to the intensified music. One dancer weaved his way through the duos, a serpent in the tall grass. The momentum kept building and building. At one point, I glanced down, only to look up and find the dancers frozen on stage as the music kept going with no discernible pause. I genuinely questioned my state of mind and assumed I was entering some form of multiverse until the dancers suddenly resumed. Pretty cool.

The pace was rapidly accelerating on a caffeinated high; the background faded to nothing but black and the bare stage lights sharpened to focus on the dancers. Only body contours and sheer velocity were seen on stage. Everything else faded to force the audience to watch the dancers and hear the percussion and flute without external embellishments. It’s a message: The performing art, by itself, with no hesitancy or reinforcements, is the final form of contemporary artistry. We have journeyed through an entire showcase with smoke and colors to reach this essential destination. Then, black. And nothing. The show is over, and it’s both a shock and a foretold prophecy fulfilled.

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