At New York City's Bowery Ballroom Friday night, Girls frontman and mastermind Christopher Owens, before even singing a single note, shook a tambourine for openers Real Estate and, while getting ready to start his own band's set, defused a minor fracas near the front of the stage, urging a couple of fans to "kiss and make up."

"Everybody, let's just all have a great time," Owens said.

The role of friendly peacemaker suited him, as Girls, a quartet out of San Francisco, makes music rooted in reconciliation that wrings happiness from adversity. Owens famously came of age in the Children of God religious cult, and for as sun-kissed as his '60s-style pop songs are, many betray a sadness that can't simply be willed away.

But that didn't stop him from trying.

On 'Ghostmouth,' as he sang the mournful lines, "I'm on a ghost train / in a ghost cloud / and I don't know how to get out / and get up to heaven," a stationary disco ball lit the stage, its lack of motion giving the impression Owens was standing at the center of halted world.

Toward the end of the song, the ball started to spin, and Owens strummed and sang from the eye of a shimmering hurricane. He looked lost but determined, keeping up his Phil Spector-like girl-group chord progression.

Spector factors heavily into Owens' music, as does Elvis Costello, a singer whose snarling '70s-era vocal hiccups he mimics less in concert than on record, and Brian Wilson, an apt comparison both in terms of songwriting and upbringing.

Owens made it through the bulk of Girls debut, 'Album,' playing many of the songs at slightly slower tempos. This may have been due to the fact the band is touring with a new guitarist, Ryan Lynch, who joined after his predecessor quit midway through a recent European tour.

Whatever the reason, the logy pacing amounted to something of a buzz-kill, sapping such tunes as 'Laura' and 'Summertime' of the exuberance they strive for -- and largely achieve -- in their recorded versions.

It was only during the finale, 'Morning Light,' that Owens let loose and uncorked whatever genuine fizzy enthusiasm lay bottled inside. As his Rickenbacker guitar coughed thick fuzz and his band mates worked up a whirlwind accompaniment, Owens made one last plea for blissful escape: "Meet me in the sky tonight / we could fly away together." For two minutes, he just about got off the ground.