The judges spent a lot of time Wednesday night talking about what happens “in between the steps,” the little extra bit of oomph and emotion and movement-without-moving that the most successful performers infuse into each number. I see it as the difference between a chorus member and a Broadway star, or a character actor and a lead. Because it is, really, the ability to act that makes certain dancers haunt you later. They make you believe that they are someone’s naughty office daydream (thank you, Kathryn, for being so exquisite I never saw AdéChiké.)

I was only knocked out a couple of times during this maiden competitive voyage — Alex produced my first tears of the season, right about the same time all of the judges lost it too. Granted, his piece was a perfect storm of Jeff Buckley, a mature and powerful partner in Allison, and Sonya’s choreography landing well within his comfort zone. But what an incredible display of control and barely contained fever that was. I couldn’t even take notes while it was happening. I loved Robert and All-Star Courtney’s African jazz routine at the end of the show, too. Without the usual heavily percussive music that accompanies most African dance I was able to tune in to the joyousness of the movement itself, the expansion and contraction and uplifted arms, instead of being entranced by the downbeats and the forcefulness. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the thrumming sexual animal that was … Kent? OK, he wasn’t all that manly, but he out-butched Billy Bell by a mile and actually made me say, “Holy crap.” Kent the Gleeful was the only dancer tonight to look like he was having the time of his life, and his little hips moved with shocking independence from the upper half of his body (essential for a cha-cha, right?) My first thought when I saw him partnered with Anya was “he’ll be ground into a fine, virgin-y dust.” And he almost was! But my pocket-sized precious shook his ass off.

On the other end of the spectrum were the disappointments, of which poor Billy was the first. Straight out of the gate, he’s doing Broadway to “Footloose” and looking like an extra from “High School Musical.” Not working for me. Next, it says something about AdéChiké’s chances if the best things about his piece were his partner and the Florence + The Machine cover of “Addicted to Love.” I need to download that.

Melinda, oh Melinda — the second she threw her arms in the air with her hands stuck at right angles I cringed, and it just didn’t stop. I don’t think tap prepared her very well to use her body as one long, continuous instrument. In ballroom-type numbers I’m always looking at the couple’s hands when they join together, how effortless the clasps are, whether or not they have to fumble for each other. The fluidity wasn’t there. And her gratefulness during the judging seemed suspiciously feigned. She’s gorgeous, but out of my top three.

In fact, I think the girls are going to have a really hard time this year. Alexie can’t get past the “cute” thing (and my mama has harder hip-hop hits), Melinda’s got very little authentic warmth, and Ashley isn’t popping off the screen yet (and ix-nay on the funny voices). I’m excited to see Lauren break open and spill her emotions on the floor like a busted pinata, but whether she will or not remains to be seen. Cristina stands the best chance of all the girls after this week, since she showed impressive range for a ballroom dancer and didn’t let my gorgeous Mark show her up during her “I’m a snake” routine.

Things I learned this week: Cat Deeley does not always make impeccable sartorial decisions, evidenced by the honey pot on her head and that teal and gold ice skating costume. Yoga will make you a better b-boy, but Jose needs to work on his “stank face.” Tyce Diorio was a subpar student at LaGuardia, which just goes to show fancy private schools are useless. Adam Shankman judged a mini-Alexie on “Star Search” in 1991 and looks almost exactly the same as he did then. He might be a vampire. Or Dorian Gray.

My bottom three predictions: Melinda, AdéChiké, and Ashley. I’ll post an update to this recap after the elimination so I can own up to my mistake or gloat because I’m all-seeing.

Quick P.S. to the judges: as a radio broadcaster for 14 years I know how hard it is to think on your feet and land a joke live on the air. There’s a space in between the thought formulating in your head and your mouth actually saying it, and I want you to use that space to reflect on what you’re about to say. “True Hood?” “Beauty and the Weaved?” Tsk tsk.

Quick P.P.S.: last week I wrote that if Alex Wong is a “goofball” as he claims, I’m the Maharishi. Well, the lovely Juliet sent me a link on Twitter (I’m NerdAlert19) of Alex and friend busting some sick moves to the “Mortal Kombat” theme. I respectfully pass the fun to you. 

UPDATE, with spoilers, duh: Before you even think it, do not mention the words “Justin Bieber featuring Usher” to me. I felt violated, and old, and I don’t care to discuss it further. As for the show, I was only right about one of the bottom three dancers, and I thought Cristina’s inclusion in that group was a miscarriage of justice. Melinda, sure. And when Nigel told the tap-dancer she lacked warmth, I was like, “he read my recap! I said that!” It’s possible, you know — I tweet him. In the end, Alexie lost on the same night the Lakers, her ex-employers, won their championship. The upside being she could go downtown and jump on some cars and she would blend right in.

I have to mention what has always been one of the very best parts of “SYTYCD,” something that makes me look forward to every elimination show. The chance to see professional dancers with years of experience go out on that stage and teach the babies how it’s done. Broadway is one of my favorite styles, and I’ve never been to a show in New York, so to be able to watch artists from Twyla Tharp’s “Come Fly Away,” was, in a word, thrilling. Keith Roberts and Karine Plantadit were fire. The living element of fire on a stage. I’ve never seen a dancer throw her body around an environment with such willful abandon and ferocity. It made the hairs on my entire body stand up. Mouth. Gaping.

‘Til next week, when we, for realsies, only have ten to choose from.

And to be gifted with Wade and Amanda Robson, right off the top, was delectable. The costuming, the hand flourishes, the shoulders, the production detail, all of it carries purpose with them. Sublime. The new coterie of dancers stood out, held their own against an excellent cast of returning favorites. My pet All-Stars: Mark, Katherine, Anya and Pasha. But I was reminded that the major drawback to the newer set is how cramped everyone feels, limiting my ability to really get a look at individuals when they’re all on stage. I was put off last season by the combination of hyper direction (just put a camera in a really good spot and leave it there for longer than a blink — stop with the switchy-switchy) and the less-than-360-degree view. I’m hoping the new director they introduced will get that under control.

Thursday night, everyone delivered. They would have to, seeing as how they each danced their own style (except Melinda the tap dancer, but that girl’s got skills), but all of them really owned their part of the floor. I was able to develop more complete impressions of the dancers, to get a feel for them. Among the pieces that stood out (and all of them were compelling): the “Sweet Charity” Broadway number, for sure. I love Broadway, and it summed up what I feel for Alexie and Melinda very neatly, too. Alexie is too Laker Girl pretty for me, her dancing too floaty. I like my girls a little gritty, like she knows the difference between Glenlivet and Cutty Sark. Melinda dances like she’s that girl. Another high spot was Cristina’s ballroom with Anya and Pasha, in which the new girl managed to avoid being entirely invisible.  No easy feat when you share the stage with the two of the only All-Stars that instantaneously make me think dirty, dirty thoughts. Their chemistry is brain-boiling, but little wide-eyed Cristina was able to keep up. She doesn’t inspire lusty feelings, though, not like Pasha taking his shirt off. I actually raised my fist in the air, on my couch, and hung my head in a silent “yesssssss.”

Here is where we discuss The Freak and The Beast, the Pre-Ordained Masters of All That Is Bendy-Limbed. Billy Bell and Alex Wong are indeed freaky and beast-y, respectively, exquisite dancers for very different reasons. But it’s not going to matter. It’s not enough to be the best, as we all know — you have to be loved. And for whatever reason, contemporary dancers in this competition have to work extra hard, and have an extra bit of winningness about them if they want to cut through the more esoteric aspects of their dance style. It’s not hard to get behind a hip-hop or swing dancer when we’re all much more familiar with that kind of expression, but contemporary can be a little artsy-fartsy for the mainstream. So those dancers have to radiate a little more than the rest to win. Alex and Billy are singular dancers, and I will love watching them every week, but in the shining-light department, little Kent Boyd is kicking their asses. That guy’s going to take the whole thing.

Other random thoughts this week: if Alex Wong is a “crazy goofball,” I’m the Maharishi. I had Billy Bell’s haircut last year, but I don’t know what that says about either of us. I didn’t remember Robert Roldan at all from auditions. Not at all. And Ashley Galvan’s legs are unreal. Lauren Froderman is going to have to pull out the stops to beat that extension. I actually felt a twinge of sadness when Mary wasn’t introduced as a judge, although the show seemed to move along at an even clip without all the extreme emoting. And did anyone else notice how incredibly polished and shiny the All-Stars were? Grown-up, confident, and totally on. Sniff.

Next week, first blood is spilt on the dance floor! Recaps will post on Thursday mornings, after the performance show, with an update on Fridays after the elimination. I’m having a great time so far.

I also expect Nigel to be lascivious, Adam to be overly emotional, and Cat to be seven miles of serious charm and legs. I even expect to shed a tear exactly when the Fox producers want me to, because I’m easily manipulated in that way. And by and large, the double-whammy of audition shows this week delivered on all those fronts. What felt so different was the hurried nature of the tryouts and the back-burnering of the bonding process that normally begins in the first round when we meet the dancers and only gets fortified throughout callbacks in Las Vegas. I’ve always started picking favorites early on, but it seemed like the producers were purposely keeping their distance from most of the contestants in these early days to prevent any unnecessary emotional investment.

In four hours of programming the show tore through four cities (only ten minutes was spent on Nashville — as if the floods weren’t enough of an injury to their morale) and still showed us 45 minutes of Vegas week. That seems crazy fast to me, particularly since it looks like they’re picking the Top 10 on Wednesday’s episode. And can I again express my outrage and say “harrumph!” to the ten competitors idea? The more I sit with it the less I like it. I’ve decided I don’t want to see ten perfect dancers, I want to see a bunch of really good dancers evolve into great ones. Whatever, I’m letting go.

So we were rushed through the open calls, during which I learned that the music a person chooses for his or her solo says everything you need to know about them. Janis Joplin scores big points, anything Jason Mraz-y makes my narcolepsy flare up. I found out what “hick-hop” is (it’s exactly what you think it is, but worse.) I discovered that cheerleaders can be awesome dancers, but oy with the grinning and the stiff arms! R-E-L-A-X! An ill-fitting bathing suit is no substitute for dancewear. And when you’re from Wapakoneta, Ohio, you think a visit to Columbus counts as “traveling to a big city.”

Only 122 dancers got tickets to Las Vegas for callbacks, and by the end of Thursday’s show, only 58 were left. Two of those people were Billy Bell and Alex Wong, returning favorites whose previous SYTYCD fantasies were thwarted by mystery illness and the Miami Ballet, respectively. They’re exquisite dancers, and I’m horrified at the thought of leaving either of them behind. Ditto tap-dancer Melinda Sullivan. But the judges are harsher than ever, more brutal than I remember, from new ballroom taskmaster Toni Redstone (who is an Amazonian Jillian Michaels in stylish boots) to Nigel uttering the phrase, “you make dead people seem like party animals.” I have a feeling next week’s cuts are going to be of the “Kill Bill” variety, with limbs flying and arterial spray.

Other notables this week: Mary’s back! Sort of! She sat on the Las Vegas panel as a ballroom judge, and didn’t scream once. The return of the poorly titled “dance for your life,” which usually puts just the right amount of fire under a dancer’s ass. Hip-hop dancer Jordan, five years sober and a dead ringer for Jesse, Aaron Paul’s character on “Breaking Bad.” Cat! Cat! Cat! There was a whole lot of girl-mane being whipped around, nearly maiming the hapless male partners. And the guy with the spray bronzer and the headband who wanted to “appeal to the ladies.” I know how he can get that ball rolling.

Next week, Top Ten!

But we’re back on track! Mary Murphy, of the interminable scream from hell, is being replaced by Mia Michaels — a significant improvement that means the dancers are going to get invaluable insight into their craft if they can decipher her esoteric tangents. Director and choreographer Adam Shankman is returning as well, bringing levity and L.A. sheen. I love it when a dancer moves him to tears, because even with his super-tan I can tell it’s genuine, that he can’t control it. And then there’s Executive Producer Nigel Lythgoe, who’s the same as ever: a perfectly honest pervert.

Other changes to the structure of the show include: “SYTYCD” all-stars from past seasons will be partnering the contestants every week; there will be 10 competitors instead of 20; and only one dancer will be eliminated per results show. I’ll let you know if I think some of these changes are leaning a bit too closely to “Dancing With the Stars” territory, resulting in the gouging out of my eyes. I get it, the producers and network are looking for ways to tighten up and freshen up and avoid the blahs that weighed down “American Idol” over the last 100 years. I trust them, so I’m cautiously optimistic, but I’m wary of any encroaching cheeseballery.

We can expect the audition process to last for a couple more weeks, and then the formula gets turned on its head as they pick a mere 10 finalists out of thousands of truly gifted people they’ve seen. There are dozens of shows like “America’s Got Talent” and “Minute to Win It” that blend a modicum of skill with a touch of Stupid Human Tricks, but competitions that showcase the diversity of dance are pitifully scarce. That there are so few opportunities for dancers to achieve any kind of recognition on a national scale underscores the importance of a show that started as a low-rated piece of filler and matured into a visual encyclopedia of an art form. I’m thrilled this show is back.

So here’s what I learned from Thursday night’s audition show: I love pimply-faced teenage boys in Reservoir-Dogs-suits who dance like their hearts have been broken; Latin ballroom, when done perfectly, makes me tingle in my naughty bits; girls with boobs are atypical in the industry; a shirtless man skillfully leaping is always a good idea; people, god bless ‘em, are seriously deluded about their own abilities, to the point that pity gives way to derision; and the original version of “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)” is totally the jam. Until next week!