"The X Factor": Rihanna gets flirted with, but isn't impressed

(CBS) She can sing, but is she pretty enough? He can sing, but is he too pretty? They can sing, but will the girls want to friend them on Facebook?

These dark and difficult questions plagued the second part of "The X Factor"'s last 32, screened Sunday only because the Texas Rangers were pretty enough to beat the Detroit Tigers without needing a Game 7.

In part two of Twisting by the Pools, the remaining contestants had to impress their mentors - who were lounging by their pools - not merely with their singing, but with their potential to be stars.

Jazzlyn Little, the 16-year-old with the legendary nerves, could feel her throat narrowing.

She, like so many of the other contestants, was dressed as if ready for a disco in Birmingham, Alabama (or England) circa 1984. Opposite her was Cowell the mogul, barefoot and mogulesque, sprawled on his outdoor sofa, as if Nero had been his grandfather and Tony Soprano his uncle.

Little sang an R&B version of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive", the anthem of the reality show contestant. Cowell was impressed, however Savan Jotecha, a vocal coach working with Cowell (but, no doubt, staying at a motel down the road from Cowell's house) offered: "It's a little high school talent show for me."

The very, very pretty Brennin Hunt serenaded Rihanna in the Hamptons. "I think he is beautiful," she said. "But he's corny."

Corny? He's gorgeous. He's so gorgeous.

In the end, Rihanna wasn't moved to make him the next of her conquests. Instead, he reminded her of a '90s boy band. The '90s were a long time ago, but not long enough for the clothes at that time to suddenly be fashionable again - nor the men.

The Stereo Hogzz want to, um, hog the radio stations. They want to be on every channel. All they have to do is impress Paula Abdul and Pharrell Williams. The Hogzz are from Houston, where you can't find a decent salad, never mind decent music. (Rodney Crowell and - if you happen to be 14 - Beyonce being lone exceptions).

On Abdul's soaking Santa Barbara patio, they went through the sort of version of "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" that turned the waterfalls dripping behind them dry with fright.

This was the Jackson Two and a Half-- a desperately derivative, sadly soporific boy-band tripe cocktail.

Josh Krajcik is a man, not a boy. He is aggressively not pretty. But because the 30-year-old slips in with the over 30s, he doesn't have to be quite so pretty. Next to Nicole Scherzinger's pool, he rendered a beautiful, subtle version of Roberta Flack's "First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." Krajcik is so much more talented, more sophisticated than most of the other performers that it's a shame he has to bother with having to go through these vast, odorous motions.

Enrique Iglesias, seated next to Scherzinger, must have thought one thing: "I can't sing half as well as this hombre."

"He's relatable, he personable, do you think he's a star?" Scherzinger asked Iglesias. Iglesias' full thoughts weren't relayed.

What seemed obvious at this point is that the producers had demanded that all the singers - especially the best ones - dress badly. This was a less than subtle attempt to create more of a rags-to-riches story for subsequent episodes. Look what we've created, we musical Dr. Frankencowells.

2Squar'd, a girl band from Miami, somehow decided it would be a good idea not only to look pretty, but to sing "Bohemian Rhapsody". This was like the cast of "Bridesmaids," after a difficult night on Quaaludes, in a bar on the difficult side of Des Moines. The word "embarrassing" would have been embarrassed to be associated with it.

Sales manager Tim Cifres brought a little mellow country to L.A. Reid and Rihanna, who looked as if they needed CPR - Country Protection and Rehabilitation.

"He's a real country singer," said Rihanna, leaving open the possibility that this wasn't a very good thing. "I wanted more," huffed Reid. More country? More money for sitting on his own garden sofa? Who knows?

Meanwhile at Chateau Cowell, 13-year-old Rachel Crow wanted to emphasize that she didn't merely want the $5 million prize for a new bathroom, but for a very large new TV too. She looked mean, very mean. But she was singing about desire. Lolita the Maneater? Surely not.

Count Cowell loved it. He adored her deep tone. But he wondered: "Maybe it's her bad luck that she's in this category."

Leroy Bell has just turned 60. But he has "the fever and the burn" and you need a lot of money to treat that. As the calm waters of the Pacific rippled in the background, Bell was desperate for Scherzinger and Iglesias to feel his love. He went hungry. He went black and blue. Or at least that's what his lyrics said.

Iglesias applauded. But Scherzinger mused: "I feel like he's the most nervous." Perhaps that's why he was turning black and blue.

Each act, before performing, attempted to suck up to the judges as best they could. Illusion Confusion are three best friends. They sucked up like 10 best friends looking for a very large loan. This was so painful that the producers actually cut their performance up with interview segments. Pharrell liked their drive, but I don't think he'd have lent them any money.

Tiger Budbill, 42, is a DJ who works two nights a week. Please weep now. He's lost everything. Please weep more. He looked at Scherzinger's pool and was desperate for his family to have exactly what Scherinzger has. We're all desperate to have what Scherzinger has - or at least most of it.

Budbill sang about falling short, about not making the grade. Was this song called "Tempting Fate"? No, it was "Don't Give Up On Me". Or "Please Give Me A Pool Like This Right Now, Preferably Right Here In Malibu."

Budbill has two earrings, but only one shot. He gave it everything he had.

"Do you feel like there's a market for him?" asked Scherzinger.

"Anyone can get it with the right song," insisted Iglesias, perhaps talking about himself, or any winner of reality singing contests.

Marcus Canty looks like a young Michael Irvin. He flirted with Rihanna, just like a young Michael Irvin might have done. He sang well, which a young Michael Irvin might not have managed.

"I cannot contain myself," said Rihanna, always such a self-contained woman. But did she really like him?

Tiah Tolliver works in a deli. Remarkably "that is not an easy job." Singing in front of his Highness the Count of Scowell is infinitely easier. A mere BLT special. As for star quality, well, Tolliver did - yet again - appear to enjoy more keys than the piano perched by the side of Cowell's pool. But The Great One applauded.

Christa Collins was the first child solo star signed by Disney. She claimed she was the prototype for Britney Spears. She retired at 16. She's now a 32-year-old hairdresser.

"This is the only place I feel whole," she said. I don't think she was specifically referring to Scherzinger's patio.

Another group cobbled together by Cowell - Intensity - was next. Poor Abdul. She and Pharrell had thus far been forced to listen to such communal bilge that one almost felt sorry for Abdul's waterfalls, her landscaping, even the birds in the trees - never mind the lady herself.

Intensity had only sung together for two days. But they were already, allegedly, a family. There seemed to be ten of them. Was that more than lived with the lady in the shoe?

"You Make My Dreams Come True," they sang. This was Hall and Oates and Oates and Oates and Oates and several more Oates. But it was not the vocal equivalent of Oat Cuisine. The oatless Steve Jones asked them whether they'd done enough. These kids are aged between 12 and 17. Kids that age always think they've done enough.

"It needs more time," was Abdul's considered view.

Talking of time, Chris Rene was only 90 days out of rehab. He has a very large "Believe" tattooed on his right forearm.

"He has something very special. I want to know more about him," smoothed Rihanna.

"I've never seen him that uncomfortable before," worried Reid.

Dare one suggest he was just a little dull? Yes, one dare. That's what those watery, opulent surroundings can do for you. They raise your expectations. They also expose your deficiencies. Still, he only has to make the last 16. How hard can that be?

Finally, oh, finally, we had Melanie Amaro, forced into singing to Cowell in France.

She offered some saccharine Michael Jackson, but performed it with a certain power and grace, if not a whole spoonful of modernity.

"It's just about contemporizing that," suggested one of Cowell's footmen.

One might say the same about this sorry mess of a show. If Cowell had been objective enough to judge his own creation he would have said: "It was pretty. Pretty indulgent. Pretty much karaoke. It was, quite frankly, pretty boring."