The Wake

Omaha, Neb., has been an incubator for up-and-coming indie acts since Saddle Creek Records led the charge out of the laughably Midwestern town and into the rest of the country’s stereos and concert venues. Tilly and the Wall stomped its way to the forefront of this lauded music scene thanks to band member Jamie Williams’s tap shoes and a wooden platform placed on stage.

There are no drums in this whimsical quintet’s tracks. Instead, two feet and a pair of tap heels supply the percussion—picture Riverdance minus the plaid and on the Triple Rock’s stage.

Equally important are the musicians lined up next to Jamie like a family of ducks. There’s Nick White, a joke-teller on keyboards. Neely Jenkins, the timid one on vocals, shakers and bells. And Derek Pressnall strums the guitar while singing with Kianna Alarid, who also shakes a tambourine when not playing the recorder.

Today it’s Alarid’s turn to field questions from the press, and she does so over the phone while shopping in the men’s section of a Goodwill near her parents’ house in Omaha. “I’m actually shopping for my mom,” she says. “She wanted this men’s button up shirt … I think she wants to paint on it. She’s very crafty.”

That explains Alarid’s outfit: a pair of white pants she painted neon, under a jean skirt topped by a kid’s dress with a swirly pink-and-blue floral print, worn as a shirt. This last piece reflects Tilly and the Wall’s childish origins. The band derived its name from a children’s book by Leo Lionni that the School Library Journal recommends for students in kindergarten through second grade. It tells the tale of a courageous mouse named Tillie who believes the grass on the other side of a wall is exceedingly greener, brighter and better—and decides to do what no other creature dares to get there: tunnel under the wall.

This streak of bravery is a trait embodied in another of Tilly and the Wall’s idols: Missy Elliot. “We have this dream list of people we’d really like to play with, like Missy Elliot and the Cure,” Alarid shares with a laugh. When asked why they like Missy so much, Alarid’s voice becomes reverential. “Oh God, how can you not? She’s just fearless. … She’s just so weird, you know? And she doesn’t care.”

While hip-hop’s queen has yet to grace a stage alongside Tilly, the band has shared the spotlight with a roster of indie acts most scenesters would trade their skinny jeans and thrift store tee collections to hear live. The Go! Team, Of Montreal, Rilo Kiley, and Coco Rosie are just a few. But it’s Conor Oberst’s label, Team Love, that released Tilly’s first album, Wild Like Children, in June 2004. In May, they followed up with Bottoms of Barrels, another ’60s-pop-inspired disc bursting with fanciful harmonies and clap-along melodies.

Alarid equates titling the disc with naming a baby. The final choice, Bottoms of Barrels, was pulled from a lyric in “Sing Songs Along.”

“It does seem sort of tragic,” she says of the title. “But the thing is, I feel like our whole spirit is sort of about hope and observing life and how it can be shitty, but always having that hope, because if you’re not positive then what else—what else can you do?”

You can “get down,” as “Sing Songs Along” advises. Or throw your mouth open wide, in accordance with the lyrics of “Urgency”: “Either start screaming or start singing.”

Of these two commands, most crowds opt for singing. “It still blows my mind that anyone knows who we are, much less knows the words to our songs,” Alarid says with a voice as humble as Tilly’s candy-sweet chord combinations. “We’re just up there having fun, and we want people to know that they’re welcome to have as much fun as we’re having.”

Although several of Tilly’s songs are liable to send your feet bouncing at the speed of the beads inside Neely’s shaker, occasionally Jamie’s feet do need a rest, and the group will slow it down with a song like “Lost Girls,” inspired by outsider artist Henry Darger. The Chicagoan’s watercolor paintings of the Vivian Girls, a gaggle of sisters who combat adults’ evil deeds, show children in matching bonnets and dresses holding hands and frolicking across a countryside that would blend seamlessly onto a fairy tale’s pages.

“I feel like [Darger’s art] affected all our lives in the band, and I just felt like writing about it,” Alarid says.

Aside from saddling up with famous friends, the seemingly sleepy town of Omaha also had a profound effect on the band’s trajectory toward success. “It’s real easy to be a musician here, because living is so cheap,” Alarid says. “Plus we have a lot of basements in the Midwest, so maybe that contributes to bands forming.” But the main factor she emphasizes is the whole-hearted support from locals. “Every time a new band comes out, everybody goes to the show. … That’s why bands keep coming out [of Omaha].”

Enthusiasm and genuine love for each other and their fans are plastered throughout Tilly’s website. Just click on their news blog and you’ll be blanketed in an outpouring of affection (“you are the reason we are still here doing this. we love you. xoxoxoxoxo”) brought slightly back down to earth only by a liberal use of “fuck” (“We are like buzzing with fucking joy!”).

Their unadulterated excitement and incredulousness is the only thing allowing them to get away with cavity-inducing phrases, like “Hello you sugar cubes!” “Hope your day is pretty!” and more Heeehhehehes than an eight-year-old chatting on AIM.

Then again, Tilly and the Wall was named after a talking mouse, so why not grant them these whimsies?

Tilly and the Wall will return to the Triple Rock Social Club at 9 p.m. on Oct. 9. 18+, $10-$12; triplerocksocialclub.com, tillyandthewall.com.