I believe it was Jane Austen who once observed that it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good voice, must be in want of an "American Idol" crown. So it is that 12 men gather on Monday (Feb. 21) night to begin the process of redeeming their gender after the disgraceful third season showing.

The best thing about attempting to squish a dozen basses, baritones and tenors into only an hour is that host Ryan Seacrest (clean-shaven to start the season) knows there just isn't enough time for him to be the center of attention.

The show opens with the men strutting their stuff on the stage as if they're participating in a bachelor auction, with the "Idol" gals sitting off to the side ready to bid on these slabs of melodic meat.

Up first in this blissfully no-fuss-no-muss evening is Ozzie Smith Jr., or Nikko as the son of the Cardinals great prefers to be known. Since Stevie Wonder appears to be the blueprint for at least half of the "Idol" men, Ozzie Jr. breaks into an energetic rendition of "Part-time Lover." He shouts the high notes, but he's smooth and in control, comfortable in the spotlight. Randy calls it one of the best boy performances he's ever seen and calls him "Dude" twice. Dude, methinks, is the new Dawg. Paula agrees. Simon says he was OK, but warns that viewers will forget about him by the end of the night. Ryan cuts off the debate. Time's a-wastin'.

Scott Savol is the only person in the Top 24 who doesn't look like he belongs. He's a bit rounder than the male models who surround him and he's already on his second facial hair mistake of the competition. Fortunately, he sounds like he deserves to be there, with a pure high voice that rarely wavers. His stage presence is negligible and though his choice of "You Are My Lady" shows how nicely he can carry a tune, it doesn't stretch him. Randy also thinks it was a bad song choice, but breaks out his first "It was aight" of the new season and issues the first catch-all complaint of pitchy-ness. Paula also notes the pitch problems, but praises him. Simon wonders how the viewers at home will respond to Scott.

After an awkward conversation with Bo Bice in the Red Room, Ryan kicks it to Anthony Fedorov, who will eternally be known as Tracheotomy Boy. Anthony is really earnest. It's a strangely sedate arrangement of Richard Marx's "Hold on to the Night" (hardly choral crystal meth to begin with) which does him no favors. It's nice, but a snooze. Randy calls it boring and safe. Paula knows he can do better.

"I thought it was as dull as dishwater," says Simon, who insists it just wasn't a star performance.

"American Idol" has never had a contestant with Bo Bice's skill-set. Unlike poseur Constantine Maroulis, Bo's pipes are genuinely made for rock, and it's unclear how he'll be able to play to those gifts if he makes it to, say, a Bee-Gees theme night, but boy is he good. He takes on "Drift Away," which has been slaughtered in past seasons by the likes of Corey Clark and Jon Peter Lewis. He has vocal strength and genuine stage authority. Randy says it was hot. Bo reminds Paula of a tight pair of jeans, which she means as a compliment. Simon just says Bo did everything right.

Rolling right along, in comes Travis Tucker. He's got a great smile and that's about it. The night's second Stevie Wonder manque, Travis sways and naps through "My Cherie Amour," ultimately getting overwhelmed by the backing vocals. He's not bad, just flat. Randy was bored. Paula so desperately wants to love Travis, but she can't bring herself to.

"It wasn't even good enough for a hotel lobby," says Simon, criticizing Travis' grasp of the melody.

The night's young, but I have a hard time imagining a worse song choice than Constantine picking "Kiss From a Rose." He's absolutely vanilla, hitting some notes, missing others entirely and constantly wincing because that's what he must think rock stars do. Randy actually liked the song choice, but says Constantine missed notes. Paula says he has his own style, which is basically a style he stole from every Goo Goo Doll, Gin Blossom and blind third eye under the sun. Simon says Bo has a better voice, but Constantine has more charisma.

David Brown ("Baby Dreads" to Anwar Robinson's "Daddy Dreads") opts for Michael Jackson with "I Never Can Say Goodbye," a somewhat courageous choice. He starts slowly mumbling the low bits, but hits his stride in the chorus when it moves into a more comfortable register. Randy and Paula and Simon are unanimous in their praise of David's voice and in their disappointment at the safe performance.

One of the least-seen performers in the audition round, Jared Yates is just plain cheesy, slurring words and breathing deeply, but barely singing at all. He's three colleagues short of a boy band, but he's nothing more than a slightly more talented R.J. Helton, to conjure up an unimpressive comparison. Randy and Paula suggest again that nervousness and song selection were to blame. Simon, though, correctly compares it to a bad boy band audition.

Roaring along, Daddy Dreads takes the stage. Sitting on a stool, Anwar does a bluesy rendition of "Moon River." On a purely vocal level, I think he may be better than anybody else in the competition and he holds the stage. Randy says he brought it down and Paula volunteers to buy the recording. Simon mocks the Stevie Wonder impersonators, saying Anwar avoided falling into that trap.

Judd Harris is a darned fine wedding singer. If he took the stage at a happy occasion and sang "Traveling Band," people would clap their hands and dance along. He's got vastly more energy than most of these guys, who seem willing to get by on style and cool, two things he may never have. What he can't do, though, is hit all of the notes that he wants to, as he gets shrill and tends to yell when he gets to the chorus. The judges are happy with Judd's spirit. Simon suggests similarities to a rock musical performance, but expects girls will vote for him.

Joseph Murena was also under-exposed for the audition rounds. The Soul Patch Kid does a sub-Boltonian take on "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You." He's like Joey Lawrence. Some people like that, I guess. I don't. Randy dubs it aight, but says it wasn't one of his best. Paula disagrees, calling it one of his best. Simon, once again, isn't very excited.

Running the night's anchor leg is Mario Vazquez. While I'm distracted by his resemblance to Wilmer Valderrama and his problematic taste in hats, he instantly gets the crowd engaged with his take on Stevie's "Do I Do." Big Fez is by far the best of the Wannabe Wonder-fuls. Randy calls it the night's best and Paula is brought to her feet. Simon says that even if the vocals were lacking, it was the evening's finest performance.

It's a good sign that none of the men were actually awful. Jared Yates sure feels like the low man on the talent totem. Constantine, Joseph and Travis will probably be in the running for the second elimination.

Bring on the ladies.