The Tap Dogs held the stage at a well-filled Lied Center for nearly an hour and a half Tuesday evening, rocking the audience into frequent applause. Move over, Michael Flatley – this is manly-man tap dancing, in real Australian boots (and jeans, and shorts, and T-shirts, and flannel shirts and ball caps).

Led by creator/choreographer Dein Perry’s brother Sheldon, one of the original ensemble, and directed by Nigel Triffitt, this group tapped in every way known to humankind. Upside down, on ladders, in a water-filled trough: You name it, they did it, to the delight of an enthusiastic and younger-than-usual Lied Center crowd.

The evening opened with a darkened stage and the sound of taps. As the lights came up, the audience was treated to a Sheldon Perry solo on a wooden platform before a corrugated galvanized sheet, the first of many visual cues to the working-stiff theme. Then the sheet was raised just enough to reveal five pairs of dancing feet, with accompanying sight gags (think of a stream of water descending between one pair of feet). All six then danced together across the stage, followed by a solo from each.

Throughout the evening, numbers varied from intricate six-man ensembles to lightning-fast solos to challenge-and-response duets. As in all tap, precise synchronization among the dancers was requisite, and was achieved with seeming ease. Choreography was clever, with dueling taps, tap conversations, crashing accents, mimed mocking of one another’s performance and pretend fights. One number involved a mimed wrapping and pulling of a starter cord to get the dancer’s foot “started.” After several pulls (and the spraying of aerosol starter fluid), the foot started, and the rapid tapping that followed sounded remarkably like an idling 4-cylinder engine.

The introductory quarter-hour was danced without accompaniment, giving the audience a vivid impression of the level of skill shown by the ensemble. Thereafter, percussionist Brad “Gorilla” Carbone, on a raised platform behind the dancers, punctuated their percussive steps throughout the evening, accompanied by music composed by Andrew Wilkie. Dance platforms varied from wood to metal, from level to raked to ramps raised up to 45 degrees: this troupe danced on them all.

All tap dancing is vigorous, but not all is as athletic as the Tap Dogs’ show. The audience was particularly wowed by the group’s barrel rolls, with the performers tapping while spinning like Olympic figure skaters. One number featured basketballs, with each dancer providing his own percussion accompaniment by dribbling while dancing. This was followed up by passing the balls – overhead lobs, bounce passes – while tapping. Passes were missed twice, bringing the number to a temporary halt, which the engaging aw-shucks manner of the group implied was intentional.

Continual changes in the routine mostly kept the performance from seeming repetitive: dancing while seated; dancing upside-down, suspended in a harness; dancing a soft-shoe routine while the audience maintained a finger-snapping beat; dancing while showered in sparks from metal grinders on a darkened stage; dancing with microphones duct-taped to ankles; dancing with heavy reverb in the sound system; dancing in a water trough while wearing Wellingtons (and sloshing plenty of water on the first three rows).

Prolonged applause followed the finale, performed on a multi-tiered platform, and the performers took their bows after a slow-paced shuffle-step number on the watery stage. Sheldon Perry did a rapid coda: Still the audience wanted more, and the Tap Dogs obliged with an encore, still energetic after 85 minutes.