Fado (literally, "fate") was born in the portside bars of Lisbon and has in the past century been elevated to a national art form in Portugal. It's an emotionally charged style characterized by evocative poetry and declamatory vocals. Before the concert, the audience was encouraged to turn off not only our cell phones, but also our intellects, as we gave ourselves over to Mariza's spell.

She cuts an imposing figure onstage, tall and slim with tightly finger-waved platinum hair. Her voice is a full-throated alto that filled the auditorium with little need of amplification. (In fact, she and her musicians performed the encore acoustically in front of the stage.)

She made frequent use of dramatic pauses, creating a palpable tension through silence. At times, she sang through gritted teeth, as if unable to contain the sorrow of the song. Not all was tragic, however. She performed several upbeat numbers that had the audience clapping along. Her flouncy, black-and-white striped skirt swayed to the beat as she danced across the stage.

Her musicians got a chance to shine about halfway through the concert with an instrumental piece. Luis Guerreiro on guitarra, a pear-shaped instrument with six pairs of strings, Antonio Neto on viola de fado, a six-stringed guitar, and Laurindo Sousa on viola baixo, an acoustic bass guitar, each showed mastery of his instrument with alternating solos. The sharp attack of the two higher guitars contrasted with the creamy tones of the bass.

When Mariza returned to the stage, this time in a sequin- spangled black dress with a red sash and the obligatory black fado shawl, she gestured appreciatively to the musicians and said, "That's my boys!"

She then launched into a story about a famous 19th-century fado singer and speculated how she might have performed in those days. Hoisting her leg up onto a chair, she raised her glittery skirt to reveal wildly striped thigh-high socks worn with her spiked heels. It wasn't the first or last delighted laugh she evoked from the audience.

Cracking jokes and chatting amiably, she created a relaxed atmosphere that was a departure from the usual mournful fado concert. "Sr. Vinho," a bouncy salute to wine, was an audience favorite. During the encore, when an audience member complained that she couldn't see the singer in the dark front of the stage, Mariza countered: "It's OK. I'm not that pretty!"

Mariza created an aura that went beyond mere prettiness, showing that the venerable fado tradition has a multitude of faces.