Tuvan throat singing is a rarity in New York. But sung artfully in ensemble as it was recently at the Rubin Museum in Chelsea by Chirgilchin, the throat-singing champions of Tuva, a Central Asian nation on the border of Mongolia, the musical technique can be mesmerizingly beautiful. In this art form, a singer uses his or her vocal tract to generate sounds that range from the impossibly low to the astoundingly high – often simultaneously. That is, a single performer may produce at once both a deep, steady drone as well as eerie, high-pitched melodies above it.

The Rubin, which opened its doors on West 17th Street last October in the northeast corner of what used to be Barney’s department store, is a remarkable jewel of a museum dedicated to the art of the Himalayas. The steel-and-marble spiral staircase – designed for Barney’s by Andree Putman – rises through the center of its galleries, which circle around it, floor by floor. On each level, a theme emerges: “Female Buddhas – Women of Enlightenment in Himalayan Art,” for example, or the newest installation, “Eternal Presence – Handprints and Footprints in Buddhist Art.”

But equally essential to the mission of the museum, which was established with the strong support of Donald and Shelley Rubin, is its cultural programming. In any given week, there will be dancers, storytellers, family activities, films, and a good deal of music. Indeed, the museum has held almost 300 such events in the 10 months since it opened, according to the museum’s director of programming, Tim McHenry.

“Music is a universal language, so presenting music from the region is not necessarily the only way to express ideas inherent in the art this museum displays,” Mr. McHenry said. “My role is to allow people an entree into the art. Ultimately, it’s all about the path that we are all on as human beings to find meaning in our lives. Music throughout the world also expresses this point of view.”

It was typical of the Rubin’s strategy that Chirgilchin (the name means either “mirage” or “miracle”) offered a workshop in throat singing (no experience necessary) in addition to its evening performance. When the group offered to give me a sneak preview, I decided to give it a shot, despite my acknowledged lack of vocal talent. Throat singing began, I was told, thousands of years ago, as an effort by lonely herders on the steppes of Tuva to imitate nature’s sounds and to commune with animal spirits. More recently, the Soviets injected a Western sense of rhythm and form into the tradition. But Chirgilchin’s approach to teaching begins at the beginning.

“In Tuva, we start by imitating a bear or tiger,” the group’s manager, Tuvan-American Alexander Bapa, told me. “We imitate our natural surroundings. So you should imitate your natural surroundings.” “Traffic?” I joke. “A Harley-Davidson,” he replies. And so I emit a moderate vroom-vroom. “More stronger, please.” One of the singers demonstrates, sounding his vroom about two octaves below mine. I try again. “It’s a good start; maybe you need more gas,” I’m told.

In the end, Mr. Bapa suggests I could use about two years more training. “Welcome to Tuva,” he says.

The variety of throat-singing styles is extraordinary: Its sounds are variously buzzing, nasal, whistling or deep, constant or warbling, sometimes suggesting the murmurings of brooks, at other times the whispering of the wind. There is the “small bubbles” style, which sounds much like a jaw harp, its timbre narrowing and widening with a resonant electric afterglow. Then there is the “quiet” style and “low” style, and something called “stirrups” – a steady rhythmic pulsing that suggests a galloping horse.

I found all this endlessly fascinating and exotic, and visits by musicians from other parts of the world planning to stop at the Rubin seem equally intriguing. Yet the museum’s music programs have also included more familiar fare, most notably performances by the singer Roseanne Cash. “From the beginning, we knew we wanted to be a friendly neighborhood institution,” said Mr. McHenry. “That’s why we have discounts for people living in our zip code. So I invited some of our leading residents to do things they would not do anywhere else. One of those people happened to be Roseanne Cash. When I found out that she was in the neighborhood, I wrote to her and asked if she would like to be our resident female Buddha – though not in those exact words.”

The invitation reached her at a moment when she was coming to terms with the recent death of her father, Johnny Cash. “When she came and saw the art – she’s not a Buddhist and had not had exposure to this kind of artwork before – she was keen to explore,” Mr. McHenry said. “With the help of our curators, she took a seminal painting from our collection called ‘The Wheel of Life,’ depicting the different psychological and spiritual stages we all move through, and spun songs off it for three concerts. We projected details of the painting behind her, and it served as a great introduction to this work. She made comments like, ‘I always thought that Himalayan art should replace the sweater section at Barney’s.'”