By Jonathan Funke

The gentle sense of intimacy Savion Glover creates with audiences seems bizarre considering the man slams thin metal plates against hardwood planking for a living.

Yet the warmth of the connection is undeniable. After seeing Bring In ‘Da Noise, Bring In ‘Da Funk in 1996, my own older-brother instincts were so aroused that I once shoved some yahoo from Montauk off his barstool for confusing Glover’s sublime production with Stomp—the showboating, cacophonous groupthink that for too long dared inhabit the same city as my Savion.

OK, so actually I just glowered at the guy as hard as I could. For possessive and overprotective fans like me, the inspired pairing of Glover with pianist McCoy Tyner is a reassuring reminder that the truly great ones can fend for themselves.

The truth is widely understood and occasionally practiced: sweetness and light is generally paid for in sweat, and meditative detachment is born of the will to fight with a convert’s zeal. “Hoofing,” as Glover calls his serious make of tap, braids interdependent strands of ebullience and spiritual calm. His collaboration with the legendary Tyner dates to their sessions at the Blue Note in 2004 (originally conceived by Jill Newman). After their one-night stand at Aaron Davis Hall in March, the chance to catch them back at work in more immediate confines should not be missed.

These are men of quests personal, mystical and historical. In Noise/Funk, Glover wrapped his feet around nothing less than the entirety of the black experience on the North American continent. From the haunting portrayal of a man in shackles to a bit of agitprop showing that even Amex Gold won’t stop cabs from whizzing past well-dressed fares in Harlem, Glover’s shoes transmuted the political into the personal with mysterious force.

For anyone eavesdropping from Mars (or, I suppose, Montauk), Tyner is the pianist whose hammers helped clear the aisles to the altar on A Love Supreme, John Coltrane’s musical redemption from long years of drug and alcohol dependency.  Since standing in with the iconic Coltrane and muscular prophets like Elvin Jones, the drummer in Coltrane’s quartet, Tyner has continued to emphasize the percussive aspects of his own instrument.

But Tyner’s own sense of quest also persists in his piano’s strings. In explorations like Revelations (1988) and Soliloquy (1991), the highest and brightest windows are framed by arches of harmonic stone. Teaming Tyner with Glover thus makes for a rhythms-forward storytelling duo that breathes and beats the shutters like the hundred-year storm that it is.

Fame, fortune and glimpses of paradise don’t seem to have spoiled or softened either man: giant steps come from pounding strides as much now as in Coltrane’s day. If encountering Glover and Tyner in close quarters doesn’t forever enliven the patter of your own stretch of sidewalk, call me. I’ll personally come by the Blue Note and knock you off your chair.

May 9-14. Blue Note, 131 W. 3rd St. (at 6th Ave.), 212-475-8592; 8 & 10:30, $30-$45.