NOW we remember the idol rush that hooked us in the first place.

Everyone---contestants, judges, the crowd (and, from my vantage at least, the television audience)---was stoked tonight.

If last week's signature was the panty-wad, this week's was Red Bull. Not everyone thrilled or amazed, but we saw most everyone's "A" game tonight.

The women gave consistently good performances, although Nadia fell below the gold standard I've come to expect of her. (The Mohawk reminded me of Kimberly Locke's disco night "Hairway to Heaven"---not a photo either woman will want to include in her authorized autobiography. Or, whew, Ricky and the gargantuan Endless Afro wig.)

Nadia may have wanted to evoke the ever-delightful and fearless spirit, not to mention hairstyles, of Cyndi Lauper, but the lesson here, folks, is STEP AWAY FROM THE FUNKY HAIR.

The AI format already treads dangerously close to the cheese factory; add funky hair and channel-surfers might mistake the show for Saturday Night Live.

Carrie, who earned rapturous raves from the judges, came out sounding like Jessica Simpson and looking like a more beautiful Gwen Stefani. Her screeching background singers almost ruined it for her, but overall Carrie showed a serious mojo infusion, one that just might propel her into the contender's ring.

At the opposite end of the spectrum: Mikalah Gordon, a/k/a The Nanny Channels Barbara Streisand. Mikalah said she had had a "very good view of the audience from the bottom three last week" and that she was determined to avoid that fate this week. However, her rendition of "Love Will Lead You Back" seems guaranteed to lead her right back to the bottom three, if not the door. Every note hurt.

Nikko, Scott and Anwar sang their hearts out, getting the job done nicely. Anwar seemed to have trouble finding the melody for the first half of his song. He seemed to be looking here, there and everywhere for it, but he rescued himself---and, thankfully, us---in the second half by letting out his inner Lionel Richie. It worked.

Anthony continues, blythely, it seems, to embellish his heartthrob image, much to the chagrin of Mr. Cowell. Simon thought Anthony's "sexy routine" created an earth-shattering conflict of expectations, like "Randy Jackson appearing on Baywatch."

Why not like Ryan Seacrest suiting up as an NFL kicker? Why not like Barney wearing pink instead of purple?

Why does it sound as though Simon has lines he is just waiting to use if he can make them seem even the slightest bit apropos the performance? A punchline in search of a joke, but Anthony's performance was not it.

Despite looking like he seriously needed to cross paths with shampoo in a bottle, Bo did a nice, if slightly forgettable performance of the Jim Croce classic, "Time In a Bottle." The poignancy of the song just didn't come across, however, at least not on the small screen. OTOH, the song choice and the plaintive way in which Bo performed it somehow made me feel that he had opened his "book" up a bit and let us look in.

Then there was Constantine, belting and jumping out his interpretation of "I Think I Love You." There's much to muse about here, including the wondrous, strange, vaguely vengeful Stingification of The Partridge Family. So much that I'm going to leave my discussion of Constantine for another day. Check back soon to take in my thoughts on Constantine and his secret life as . . . Clay Aiken?

www.idolhabit.blogspot.com