Every so often, "Idol" chroniclers are allowed — nay, required — to channel their inner Simon. Mr. Cowell is the show's governing spirit, the voice of commercially savvy reason and Top 40-besotted prejudice. What he loves is often cheesy, what he thinks is strange is often as original as this resolutely Middle American program ever gets. I acknowledge those limitations — Simon will probably never understand Grizzly Bear or Amanda Palmer or rap in general. He probably doesn't even like Leonard Cohen. But in the universe of "Idol," which influences — if not wholly shifts — the axis of mainstream pop, he is the paternal force.

And Simon is bored.

Simon is bored, many think, because he's leaving "Idol" after this season to helm a competitor — the American version of his British hit "The X Factor." But just for a moment, let's entertain the idea that he's not wholly motivated by mercenary tendencies. Maybe Simon's lost his buzz because this year's finalists aren't giving him his daily dose, the substance that is to an "Idol" judge what a plasma cocktail is to Robert Pattinson's Edward. He named it, clearly, tonight, while coolly laying into most of the female strivers left in the room. Simon requires big moments. And these contestants aren't providing them.

Tonight, I felt Simon's pain (or rather, his blase blues) while enduring what should have been an exciting round determining the women's half of the Top 12. This cut makes the difference between the would-bes who won't be remembered and those who might. It guarantees a spot on the summer tour, provides more recording and live performance opportunities, and transforms the singers who qualify into relatively enduring personalities. It's something worth the risk of a some sweat and big notes.

What did we get from most of the women tonight, instead? Pleasant, charming, perfectly contained turns not very different from what they did last week.

Only one competitor made a tragic misstep: Paige Miles, whose shaky rendition of the Michael Jackson-associated, Charlie Chaplin-composed "Smile" carried the stench of desperation and virtually guaranteed that this will be the first year no African American woman makes the "Idol" dozen. (Somewhere out there,Tyler Perry is frowning.) Miles, who despite Simon's early support has not found a way to distinguish herself, was tremulous and emotionally vacant delivering the sentimental ballad that her childhood hero often said was his favorite. Her meek interpretation was characteristic of a segment in which triumph and failure both came in meager portions.

There was one standout: Siobhan Magnus milked the drama from the old folk song "House of the Rising Sun" while her dad, who bears an undeniable resemblance to the Animals' Eric Burdon, the barrel-voiced lad who made the song famous, sat in the crowd and basked in her Grace Slick-meets-Linda Thompson tone.

 She's the dark horse, fast ascending, and was the recipient of a rare serious misread from Simon, who seems flummoxed by her blithe and understated aura of entitlement. Learning that her father is a singer (the best she knows, the dutiful daughter told host Ryan Seacrest) explains a lot: Siobhan's swagger is the sort displayed by kids whose parents fed them the rock canon before they could chew solids. Her possible victory (possible, not probable: Simon's surely not alone in thinking the formerly mohawked glassblower "strange") would be a nice first for "Idol," the endorsement of a female star standing for a new chapter in the rock and roll continuum.

You might say the same thing about Crystal Bowersox, who gave another powerful performance on a safe choice — Tracy Chapman's easy-to-love blues, "Give Me One Reason." Unleashing her lustrous alto with abandon, playing electric guitar (she sat on her amp afterward to get her critique from the judges), Mama Sox was the faithful rocker personified, doing it for love, not for a prize, which she might win anyway.

Yet we've already come to expect this from Bowersox, and though her talent is considerable, she hasn't really dared to test it yet. She stayed within her comfort zone; that's the strategy so far for this bunch of strangely inert performers, who are at once more quirky than the average Idol bunch, and less…something. Less comfortable with risk; less prone to dramatic gestures; less, to use one of Simon's words, BIG.

The most ear-pleasing turns tonight gained charm from staying small. Didi Benami's plain reading of Stevie Nicks' "Rhiannon" and Lilly Scott's careful tweaking of Patsy Cline's signature "I Fall to Pieces" beguiled without pulling any new revelations from those familiar tunes. Lacey Brown similarly imparted minor pleasures with a nice song choice, Brandi Carlile's "The Story"; compared to the intense original, however, her version was nothing more than a sweet aperitif.

As for the teens Katelynn Epperley and Katie Stevens, both showed their nerves tonight, and not much else, though Epperley's pure instrument continues to impress, despite her seeming confusion about what to do with it.

Perhaps the at-sea feeling that descends on this bunch, week after week, reflects a shift in what young people see as the purpose of pop. These women mostly project the realistic ambitions of the niche artist, whose style might seem "strange" to the great mainstream but who can find that loyal audience addicted to the tickle in her voice or her way with a cute turn of phrase and a Wurlitzer riff. Think Sara Bareilles or Kate Nash, not Leona Lewis or Mariah Carey. No sweeping statements here, nothing to make you weep. No wonder Simon — the kind of pop P.T. Barnum who needs his diva — is disconnected.

No wonder many viewers are. This season's lack of big moments reminds us that prime-time television is still not best experienced as a niche phenomenon. We want to be united by these voices. Will any really make us feel this way, this season?

– Ann Powers

Photo: Siobhan Magnus.  Credit: Frank Micelotta/Fox