Rare are the nights you can catch two first-rate bands, each still in their ascendancy, sharing the same stage in one of Lower Manhattan’s most revered venues. On Friday night at Bowery Ballroom, Jersey upstarts Real Estate worked in support of Girls, a much-buzzed-about foursome from San Francisco that traffics in lovesick ‘60s pop. While both groups share a common sun-drenched, endless-summer aesthetic, Real Estate’s muffled chug proved a stark contrast to Girls’ plaintive and swooning melodies.

Real Estate, whose debut hits the street November 17th on Brooklyn label Woodsist, are purveyors of hazy tunes that, while best suited for back-lot barbecues, stood up equally well on one of NYC’s first truly cold nights. The band specializes in driving rhythms and shimmering chord progressions that give rise to some transcendent moments, particularly when all parts congeal in a jangly mess of sound. And while the set occasionally strayed into more directionless instrumental sections, Real Estate’s allure is clear when the band remains within the song structure. On this night, the foursome showcased its tighter live effort and augmented volume – the group has clearly learned a thing or two about filling a room to maximum effect.

Girls, on the other hand, put forth a tightly-crafted set reminiscent of a narcotized Everly Brothers messing about in Phil Spector’s studio circa 1962. Lead singer Christopher Owens, whose religious cult backstory has been retold at a frequency that threatens to obscure his music, makes for an endearing frontman crooning his lovesick lyrics in a manner that appears completely devoid of pretense. Owens was surprisingly exposed for much of the set, alternately strumming an acoustic guitar and a vintage Rickenbacker without excess volume or distortion to hide behind. In fact, the band’s sound in the live setting was surprisingly clean and an accurate reproduction of self-title debut record. In a year when terms like lo-fi and shitgaze are the coin of the realm, Girls’ precision and willingness to forego excessive effects pedals was a surprise and highly refreshing. Indeed, one of the more distorted moments came during the crescendo of “Hellhole Ratrace”. This brief and glorious interlude, a storm of sound in an otherwise mellow set, put the rapt crowd into a near frenzy. Non-believers, if there were any to begin with, left the venue in full thrall.