Arif Lohar Performs at Asia Society The songs were devotional, and the mood was euphoric when Arif Lohar, a Pakistani singer who is a major star in Punjabi music, performed at Asia Society on Friday night, the first of two sold-out concerts. Chad Batka for The New York Times Arif Lohar Above center, Mr. Lohar, the Pakistani singer of Sufi music, leading his band. Breaking news about the arts, coverage of live events, critical reviews, multimedia and more. A sortable calendar of noteworthy cultural events in the New York region, selected by Times critics. The audience in Mr. Lohar's sold-out performance on Friday night at Asia Society. There's something puckish about Mr. Lohar's stage presence, even when he's belting 17th-century mystic poetry that proclaims, "Every time I think of you, the Divine, I feel breathless" - a phrase among the lyrics of a Sufi song performed by Mr. Lohar that has had more than eight million views on YouTube, "Alif Allah Chambey di Booti" ("My Spiritual Guide Has Planted the Jasmine-Scented Essence of Love for Allah in My Heart"). Mr. Lohar arrived with pop trappings. Like something out of a Michael Jackson video, his band wore long, black quasi military coats, with sequined gold hearts where badges might have been. The group included electric keyboard, electric guitar and a drum machine, which supplied the twangy little hook that ran through "Alif Allah Chambey di Booti." But the music got its visceral drive from two-headed South Asian drums, those played with hands (dholak) and sticks (dhol), and from Mr. Lohar's instrument, the chimta: long metal tongs with tambourinelike jingles, clinking and chattering like a syncopated rattlesnake. Mr. Lohar's father, Alam Lohar, was a celebrated folk singer, and Arif Lohar is steeped in tradition. His first piece was a story-song in an old Punjabi style called qissa; accompanied by Allah Ditta on alghoza, a pair of reed flutes, and by his own chimta, Mr. Lohar delivered each line like an actor taking on the story's characters. He also intoned, in pealing sustained lines, a Sufi poem by his father. Then the full band joined him. The intent and effect of the music were traditional, which is to say ecstatic: to experience the joy of union with the divine. Sufi music, like African-American gospel, gets physical about praise. Even in the formal confines of the Asia Society auditorium, concertgoers stood up and danced as the beat and the spirit swept the room. Many non-Pakistani listeners have heard the qawwali Sufi music of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Mr. Lohar's music has a similar momentum, revving up in call-and-response with the band, and he has his own superhuman lung power. But his Punjabi folk songs are different. Instead of Khan's long, ornate, improvisational phrases, Mr. Lohar sticks to the music's short, repeated melody lines, bringing new passion to every iteration. On Friday night "Alif Allah Chambey di Booti" went on for more than half an hour of pure fervor, with each rhythmic refrain of "jugni ji" - firefly, a metaphor for the soul - only stoking the song higher. And that song was a stepping stone toward "Dama Dam Mast Qalandar," in praise of a "breathlessly enraptured ecstatic qalandar," or Sufi mystic. Mr. Lohar stepped back from the edge of the stage, like a discus hurler, and let fly a high, filigreed incantation; then a flutelike keyboard line arrived, a galloping beat kicked in, and the room was rocking again. Mr. Lohar had taken off his turban, freeing his long black hair, and at one point he was shaking it like a hard-rock headbanger. Other singers shared the bill. Fozia, who sings backup in Mr. Lohar's group, had a brief set on her own, displaying some tender subtleties that were swept away during Mr. Lohar's songs. Arooj Aftab, a Pakistani-American singer, reworked the gentle, rippling phrases of the light-classical style called thumri over meditative guitar parts by Bhrigu Sahni that eased toward jazz and rock harmonies. Later these performers were visible upfront, among Mr. Lohar's dancing throng.