Tilly and the Wall are part of the emergent naive scene; a set of bands who fret about being grownups from within the cosy confines of playground sing-songs. Unlike their Peter Pan peers, they don't just offer reconfigured nostalgia, but showbiz. First there's the theme tune. "We say, 'oh!' You say, 'fuck!'" they sing, clapping their hands and grinning at their own naughtiness. Then there's the tap dancing.

It's taken two years and the patronage of Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst for the Nebraskan five-piece to tap their way to credibility - but their debut album, Wild Like Children, was worth the wait. An optimistic celebration of self-destruction, unspoken longing and adolescent rebellion, it combines the whimsical spirit of the Polyphonic Spree with the melancholy of Kirsty MacColl.

The band consists of two dressed-down boys, two glamorous girls and one frenzied hoofer, the tutu-wearing Julie Williams. Alongside Williams, who mouths every song while her arms wave like a windmill in a gale, the rest of the band look positively nonchalant.

Neely Jenkins and Kianna Alarid are thrift-store starlets, their eye make-up heavy, their faces framed by perfect fringes. The morning-after hangover of Bessa makes them sound like despondent Sandie Shaws, but the synchronised dance moves that complement guitarist Derek Pressnall's acoustic flamenco rhythm in Reckless recasts them as Shangri-La's-style vixens.

Despite keyboardist Nick White's fondness for stately piano melodies, they are essentially a folk band. But when Jenkins and Alarid take turns on bass, they swell with pithy attitude. Nights of the Living Dead already sounds like an anthem and when they chant "I wanna fuck it up!" it's not childish provocation, but glistening teen spirit.