In the face of every over-reaching TV on the Radio article in 2006 about race or the role of major labels or the impending re-evaluation of Peter Gabriel, the group figured out how to let the music pretty much speak for itself-- and even then, it was hard to get an angle on them. Every member played second banana to their album's real star: the production. All the jagged guitars and nervous rhythms, even the astonishing reach and depth of singer Tunde Adebimpe's voice, were pulled back to make way for Dave Sitek's monolithic sound. To argue against Return to Cookie Mountain is to argue against the wind, the sea, a ten-pound hamburger; there's just no place to begin attacking it.

Now, in a curious but nonetheless welcome bit of co-branding, we have Live at Amoeba Music from the famed West Coast record store, featuring four songs from Cookie Mountain recorded during an in-store performance. I can't say that any of these songs better their studio versions, but, obvious as the point may be, these songs reveal a striking amount about TVOTR when stripped of their thick production and original context-- how they are indeed a capital-r Rock band, and what a weird one they are. Here, you can hear the band as a sum of its parts, without quite becoming more than that.

Seamless it's not: You can hear (even more) how indebted they are to David Bowie's experimental 70s work in the low, theatrical vocals, swinging, staccato guitars, and blurting horns of "Blues From Down Here", and in the more pronounced tribal rhythms in the final moments of "Wash the Day Away". It's an added bonus for those who think "Wolf Like Me" is the band's only rock performance, because this EP proves otherwise-- it's far from phoned in, with performances too spirited and too practiced and arranged to be dismissed as "off-the-cuff." That said, "Wolf" is the EP's most jagged track, its tempo sliding as Adebimpe strangles his lyrics like a dog with a shoe in its teeth. The track's half-speed bridge sounds even weirder with its placid keyboards and fluttering recorders. These elements seem a lot more incongruous on this recording, sure, but they demand that much more attention without the layers of their album counterparts.

While they're not so jarring they sink the momentum, nothing comes together quite like "Province" does. (It also features the single greatest dedication I've ever heard on disc, going out to "Pucky and Wheezy and Potato...and Tiny Huck.") As the band begins, its members are suddenly distinct and discernible, between the unexpectedly melodic metronome pluck of Kyp Malone versus the distorted, Sitek's atmospheric touches (not to mention the wind chimes dangling from his guitar's headstock), plus its unpredictable bass drops and continued Bowie emulation in its vocals (which makes more sense here). But when its B-section hits, a more vicious and gothic grind comes from the guitars, pushing to the front while not overbearing the most discernible lyrical moment of the disc.

And this is plenty. It's ridiculous to expect transcendence from an in-store performance, and the band acknowledge this with banter after "Blues from Down Here", as Adebimpe thanks the crowd and apologizes for distracting them from "the many fine purchases you could be making." With its severely limited run, this release couldn't tarnish their catalog even if it did disappoint. As is, these are fine performances that peel back the layers of the band's newest songs, intended for the very devoted and very curious.