I can't bear to watch even a second of the open-call audition episodes of "American Idol," so the "Hollywood Week," which cuts down a pool of about 150 auditioners to 24 semifinalists, serves as both series pilot and recap for what I've missed for me. I am most interested in "Idol" as a sped-up, made-for-TV microcosm of the pop starmaking process, and the geek-show quality of the first several weeks has little if anything to do with that.

Season 6, while entertaining enough to me as a first-time viewer, had its shortcomings. The talent pool was very shallow. Only two of the female contestants were great singers, and neither had much personality; the male field was bleaker still. Chris Sligh managed to coast along for several weeks based on one clever comment he made to Simon Cowell during auditions; Phil Stacey lasted even longer based on nothing more than sheer unobtrusiveness. Blake Lewis, despite a weak, rangeless tenor that impressed nobody, made it all the way to the final two thanks to decent taste and a likable, mildly distinctive personal style. The constant harping during Season 7's Hollywood shows that the talent pool assembled for this casting was the best ever on the part of the judges and Ryan Seacrest seemed a calculated attempt to set this season apart from the last.

It is very hard to say for sure whether the showrunners have delivered on their goal and brought together a more talent-studded cast. It's a peculiarity of the "American Idol" style that the contestants who have a practical chance of winning the competition seldom get much if any screen time during the early weeks. The Hollywood Week episodes focus in on the poor souls who almost reach their dreams only to see them dashed on the rocks at the last possible minute -- and how can they not? This makes for undeniably entertaining television. Season 7 may have already seen its high point with the execution-style dismissal of insufferable 18-year-old moppet Josiah Leming. Leming, whose bowl haircut and overemotive singing highly suggested the malign influence of similarly talentless indie-lite hack Connor Oberst, picked fights with the judges, the "Idol" band, and the show's musical director before finally getting the axe at the final turn and collapsing into an immensely psychologically satisfying tear puddle just outside the Elevator of Death. Leming would have been a disaster as a contestant -- he was emotionally fragile and completely unable to cooperate with others (one can only imagine the expressions of the deeply professional "Idol" band upon hearing the young Phil Spector's proclamation that he had worked out new arrangements for each and every instrument on the song "Stand by Me") -- but on the other hand among those granted much screen time in the Hollywood shows, Leming was the only one with a Lewis-like personal creative identity.

The format has been changed, even, to avoid future cases like Lewis. "Idol" is supposed to find diamonds in the rough like Kelly Clarkson -- whatever you might have to say about Clarkson's career decisions since "Idol," her talent as a vocalist shouldn't be in question. The trouble is, when you're digging deep in the rough, you're going to find tons of people with no musical training whatsoever, whatever their raw vocalizing talent might be. Season 7 semifinalist Amanda Overmyer, the nurse with the pipes that completely blew away the minimal instrumental backing during her Hollywood audition, is a good example. Her voice is a weapon, but one that might be completely impossible to aim -- I've heard her sing three songs so far and each one sounded pretty much like the exact same melody. But man, what a melody!

Lewis was a adequate singer with a ton of music knowhow -- a category not much exposed on "Idol" before last season. His longevity probably surprised and confused the showrunners, who all but stage-managed Jordin Sparks to the crown to keep the embarrassment of a "singing competition" winner who couldn't sing a lick from souring the momentum of their franchise. (Well, that's being overdramatic -- Lewis wouldn't have won anyway. But it was very hard to watch the final, with its awful compulsory ballad "This Is My Now," without thinking that the fix was in.) There isn't anyone in the final group this year, or at least among those to whom we've been introduced, with similar savvy.

One of the ways that the format of the Hollywood week was reconfigured to produce this desired result was the elimination of the group singing round. Potential finalists used to have to form up into groups of three and four and arrange and perform one number that way. This was tremendously entertaining, for obvious reasons. What happens when you take a bunch of monomaniacal, delusional, overstressed "Idol" wannabes and force them to cooperate for an evening with their direct competition? Well, two or three massive breakdowns and at least one colossal made-for-TV catfight. Both Lewis and Sligh made it through to the Final 24 last season largely on the basis of their group-round performance (which they did together with two also-rans). That allowed both of them to coast through on strengths -- Lewis's beatboxing and arranging, Sligh's self-deprecation and general affability -- that weren't at all the traits which "American Idol" is designed to exploit. In place of the group round, this year the producers went with a "last chance" format -- singers who had not already received a pass through after their first solo performances were brought out in rows of ten and given a couple seconds to plead their case. As the limited amount of time the telecast granted this section proved, this ended up being way less dramatic than was intended. Few of those granted reprieve here came out of the Elevator of Death happy.

It's hard to assess what will take place from here on out since our exposure to the contestants still standing has been so limited to this point. When the studio singing rounds begin this week, it will be a fresh start for both contestants and viewers. What's stood out most about the Final 24 thus far is its international flavor. Michael Johns is very Australian and very good-looking; the judges might be bigger fans of his singing than I am but if Haley Scarnato was able to ride tight pants all the way into April last season, I am certainly not going to hold the more talented Johns' photogenic qualities against him. Carly Smithson seems more American than Irish (her accent comes and goes like David Boreanaz's in "Buffy" and "Angel" flashback sequences) but she seems like more of an authentic tough chick than any of the Season 6 crowd and we still haven't heard her sing fully unencumbered (allergy problems dogged her throughout the Hollywood round). I'm more intrigued by the handful of male contestants from whom we have hardly heard anything. Early indications seem to confirm that this group is vastly better than the Season 6 rogues' gallery, where the hugely bland Chris Richardson was actually one of the more talented vocalists. I don't care at all for Colton Berry's inbred-cousin sideburn look, but the little, unassuming guy has some pipes. And there are about five or six male semifinalists who look interesting, even if I haven't heard them sing at all yet.

Come on back Wednesday, when we'll for sure have something to say about each and every one of the one-half of the semifinalists who will have performed by then.