“Ladies, I have taught this routine to three sets of dancers downtown, and everybody got it,” Calvin Wiley said sadly, surveying the group of thin, bejeweled, Upper East Side women in front of him at his Calvinography dance class at Equinox on East 85th Street. He had spent half an hour trying to teach a set of slick hip-hop moves – lots of isolations and contractions – using Lady Saw’s song, “I’ve Got Your Man.”

His downtown class, at Equinox in Greenwich Village, had loved the song, but it clearly wasn’t working uptown, even though everyone was trying hard. Some connection was missing, and the East Siders were tripping over the steps, not really hearing the music. “I know just the song for you,” he announced after a minute, slipping in a different CD and strutting back to the center of the studio, as Peggy Lee’s unmistakable voice sang out the first words to “Fever.”

The surprised response was instantaneous – smiles broke out, shoulders started to shimmy. Mr. Wiley began to reteach the same steps, and now everyone picked them up. This was their kind of music, and they knew how to dance to it. When Mr. Wiley put Lady Saw back on 10 minutes later, the class was confident and ready. When class ended, the sweat-drenched students cheered and stomped so loudly that people streamed over from other areas of the gym to find out what was happening.

Once again, as he had hundreds of times before, Mr. Wiley had triumphed in the lion’s ring of a New York dance class. He teaches every kind of dancer – Broadway stars, Knicks City Dancers, showgirls, street dancers, and classical dance students – as well as almost every ethnicity, age, and income level. He has both professionals (Jane Krakowski is a regular) and civilians as students.

Though his typical class looks like an ad for New York diversity, not everyone always gets along well. Arguments sometimes arise over space or front-line position. “This class is very crowded,” he admonished on a recent evening. “If someone comes in looking nicely for a spot, don’t be evil. Let them in.” With his combination of showmanship, authority, kindness, and swagger, he moderates disputes, and controls and channels the energy, encouraging shy students and quieting the overly aggressive.

At a recent class, after teaching a very fast, funky routine to a 50 Cent song, Mr. Wiley put on George Benson’s “Beyond the Sea,” followed by Frank Sinatra’s “Witchcraft,” which bewildered much of the room. A hip-hop dancer behind me cursed, asking loudly, “Can you even dance to this junk?” “I’m giving you a musical education,” Mr. Wiley answered. “And by the way, you need to change your interpretation to fit what you’re now hearing.”

After a stare-down, the hip-hopper decided to take the advice, closing his eyes and moving tentatively – then beautifully – to the music through several more rounds of Benson and Sinatra. When 50 Cent came back on, he exploded into the double beat of the routine, popping and locking like a break dancer. After class he called out, “Hey thanks, man,” to the teacher.

“Sometimes music blocks the channel of learning, keeps a dancer from visualizing,” Mr. Wiley said. “I have to make adjustments, help them break through that. Of course, they also have to be willing.”

Mr. Wiley has broken through a lot of barriers himself. Born the youngest of 23 children (seven of them his half-siblings; the rest full siblings) in Clarksdale, Miss., in 1964, Mr. Wiley danced “for nickels and quarters” as a child, but never had the money or the opportunity for formal training until he left the South. After moving to Boston (“for love”) in 1992, he became the artistic director of a young dance company, Rainbow Tribe, which had a street-smart sensibility, lending hip cover to well-trained dancers. “That’s where I really learned to observe dancers,” Mr. Wiley said. “I often didn’t have the words for what I wanted to teach. So they would say, ‘Oh, you want us to plie, then relieve on one leg.’ I also made a lot of mistakes. Like once I said I wanted everyone to take first position. One of the dancers pointed to my feet and said quietly, ‘Actually, that’s second.'”

A fellow dancer recommended him for a six-month gig, teaching at the Arena studio in Zurich, in 1995. “I was scared,” he recalled. “I’m a Southern boy. For the first time in my life I couldn’t get home by walking.” Even so, he loved Europe. “When I left for Frankfurt the next year, I went with the intention of building my name. I started to rent myself out at small fitness conventions and dance events throughout Europe.” He moved to New York in 1997, but kept up his European contacts, and still reserves 16 weekends a year for teaching abroad. He often comes back from trips with new music, such as a fabulous flamenco-funk CD a friend gave him in Valencia, Spain. At least one round of music in every class these days is flamenco-flavored, requiring yet another set of adjustments from students. Dr. Anja Krause, a physician and classically trained dancer who’s been taking Mr. Wiley’s class for nine years, said, “Even when it’s not my music and not my style, I’m happy in class. Calvin gives you the feeling that you truly can dance. He has students from ABT and the New York City Ballet, but he doesn’t just look at the good ones. He helps and inspires everyone.”

Mr. Wiley’s classes have become so crowded that dancers routinely line up well in advance, even on Sunday morning. “I haven’t been to bed yet,” said one young beauty, leaning on an elderly man. “But I’ll feel better when the music starts.”

For a full schedule of Mr. Wiley’s ‘Calvinography’ dance classes, visit www.equinoxfitness.com/classes and www.thesportsclubla.com (day passes at both clubs are $35 for guests, who must be accompanied by a member).