In the annual December search for next year's "next big thing", New York five-piece the Bravery are possibly in pole position. Signed to Island Def Jam after the obligatory bidding war, their debut EP is being championed by Radio 1 and they are one of the few unknown bands (including Franz Ferdinand, a year ago) to appear on Jools Holland's Later. However, the band seem less star-struck by industry machinery than by playing a tiny sweatbox in Manchester. "This is so cool for us," drawls vocalist Sam Endicott, sporting a quiff Morrissey misplaced in Salford in 1984.

Bands often say things like this but Endicott is sincere. While British bands have historically harboured almost erotic fantasises about the US, this New Yorker has spent hours wishing he'd been born in England (possibly Basildon, alongside Depeche Mode).

The least American-sounding American band of all time, the Bravery's turbocharged electro-bounce is rooted in what Americans used to call the "silly English haircut groups" of the 1980s New Romantic boom. Endicott and chums bring more guitars, however, and a peculiarly uplifting passion to what was often po-faced fare. Equally, it's encouraging that Bush's America can produce young men who are not afraid of wearing make-up in urban city centres.

The Bravery's songs will have people either falling at their feet or queuing to beat them up. Don't Look at Me That Way ("It was an honest mistake") conjures up a misplaced homosexual advance or a night in Manchester publand. Broken Hearted, meanwhile, boasts the extraordinary couplet "Who put the art in retarded?" Not all their songs hit the spot but, crucially for their long-term appeal, their best bouncing electro riffs could gatecrash many an office party.