You may be a fan of Gwen Stefani, but she's not really a fan of you

“Question!” teases Seacrest, opening Tuesday's show and wearing a snappy hip-banker suit with a skinny tie, a look that really elongates him and that I approve of wholeheartedly. “Gwen Stefani fans here with us tonight? [Do you] like Gwen Stefani?”

The audience goes ape-shit--including one blond lady who looks like a grown-up Six from Blossom--not realizing that Seacrest is about to psych! them with the information that G.S. isn't actually going to appear in person tonight at all. But boy, do they EVER like Gwen Stefani. If she hit the stage right now, someone would no doubt (Get it? I said “no doubt”) climb onto the stage and attempt to swallow her whole, keeping her a tiny hostage in their O.C.-ska-loving stomach. When you'd put your ear to that lucky celebrity-cannibalizing person's torso, you'd hear “Spiderwebs” 24/7.

Now, I'll be the first person to be annoyed by the glad-handing presence of a dude like Peter Noone on this show, and I've often wondered what it would be like to have a non-oldster come along to coach the kids, to have an actual pop star from today show up and work with the contestants. But what possessed Gwen Stefani to come on this show besides her management begging her to do something to move her new CD? I think we're all about to find out that the true answer to that question resides in the fine print of a contract somewhere. But whatever, my friend Aaron, who works at Los Angeles's biggest record store, Amoeba, says that since last week they've sold out of Lulu completely. So that shit works.

Seacrest explains tonight's theme, and it's a complicated, arbitrary one: No Doubt songs and songs from the artists and bands who inspired Gwen. In other words, Gwen songs and songs by people Gwen's heard of. Then Seacrest introduces the judges but doesn't bother giving out their names. You know them by now. I just wish they'd close up on the black ruffly puffy-sleeved blouse made of hammered licorice Paula's got on. But instead we get a Gwen Montage. Gwen in a knit cap, Gwen with No Doubt on a checkerboard background, Gwen in a red dress, Gwen inside a giant heart, Gwen jumping with that old mid-'90s hair— you remember, the thing with the curled-under bangs—Gwen wearing a T-shirt that reads “Anaheim,” Gwen with a bindi. Seacrest says, “Gwen's infectious energy, platinum hair, and toned tummy have made her an icon.”

I love the idea of a tummy being iconic. I should capitalize on that myself. My tummy is somewhat different from Gwen's, as mine has been honed to a Santa Claus–like-roundness by regular play dates with cupcakes and beer, but it's no less adorable, and I want to be celebrated for it. My player-hating doctor is encouraging me to lose about 30 pounds, something about preventing heart disease and diabetes, but what does he know? This is my signature gut and it's going to make me famous. And meanwhile, Gwen makes her entrance into the rehearsal space wearing a sweater. It's a really cute sweater too, with trompe l'oeil straps and buckles woven into it, but it's completely swaddling her toned tummy, one I was promised just moments ago. What gives? Stop cheating us all, Gwen Stefani!

Gwen refuses to cheat us on dispensing wisdom, though. She talks about how having a great big voice isn't so important when you're looking to apply for the position of pop star. And she should know. Not that she's a bad singer or anything. Her voice is just fine, but if anyone knows about presentation-uber-alles, it's this woman. Why just sing when you can create a perpetual-motion, hip-hop Cirque du Soleil of dancing dollies, sword-swallowers, unicyclists, cholas, and skate-rats to surround you at all times, a distracting entourage that Nelly Furtado would give her left lung for?

Gwen faux-empathizes about how nerve-racked all the kids must be, and I'm nervous just listening to her talk. She has a sort of lockjaw thing going on, like someone's sewn her teeth shut, and I think I'd like it, I'd consider it an endearing bit of humanity, if I hadn't ever seen her before. She continues with, “I feel very, kind of, like, excited for them. I can't wait to see who's gonna win.” As she says this she appears to be struggling to not betray that she's completely bullshitting straight into the camera, doing her best to trick all those people out there who know a lot about the facial tics of liars. Then she finishes up with, “It's kind of excite—I'm really kind of—I've invested in it now. I'm really [slight but mind-bendingly insincere pause] into it.”

AWESOME! SHE HATES BEING HERE!

LaKisha's up first. What advice did Gwen give? It's good. So good. “After LaKisha's performance I'm actually finding myself sweaty. Like, it was like, really, she really blew me away.”

As LaKiki finishes her rehearsal, Gwen hugs her and smiles straight into the camera. She must have watched Lulu really go for it last week and then thought, Well, fuck all that helping-them-sing shit and giving them actual pointers by demonstrating how it's done. Diana Ross took the easy road. So am I.

LaK comes out in a hot red-and-black boob-presentation garment. Gwen's just happy she didn't ask for a LAMB outfit “because, like, uh…you know, we don't, like, MAKE those sizes!” The outfit and her sleek straight wig combined are pretty much all you need to fall in love with her. And the DMV nails are bigger, whiter, and more squared-off than ever. Now all she has to do is beat the shit out of Donna Summer's “Last Dance,” which I'm confident she'll do because even in the opening slow bit she says “Cuz when I'm bad I'm so so ba-a-ad” and pronounces that first "bad" like it's “bade.” She's here to make this song her bitch. It's also her “last chance…for rom-MAINCE…to-o-oni-i-i-high-high-hight.”

In the middle of the song she waves her hand toward the camera, almost begging it to come closer so she can give it a left hook, stands at the edge of the stage like maybe you should be a little scared, like don't make her come down there and say again that you'd BETTER FUCKIN' DANCE WITH HER RIGHT NOW OR SHIT'S GONNA GET UGLY. And as she finishes it off, confident she's beaten it all to a pulp, she whips her head around to show off how silky and flowy that fake hair is. I'm in super-love with her right now. She looks like she might launch right into the 18-minute version of the “MacArthur Park Suite.”

The judges are happy. Randy is pleased she's chosen an “up-tempo joint.” Paula praises her too. And we finally get a good look at Paula's hair tonight, and it's a masterpiece of confusion, moving in so many directions at once that it's like someone's conducting it and giving it contradictory directions. Simon says LaKisha's 30 years younger this week. Which still makes her 20 years older if you do the math from his last week's comment about how she was 50 years older after singing “Diamonds Are Forever,” dig? Cut to her old work friends holding a sign that reads “Provident Bank Is Banking on LaKisha to Win!” Translation: “We seethe with envy that, even if she loses, she's never coming back to make us feel less miserable about remaining trapped here.”

Seacrest asks Chris Sligh one of those viewer questions. “What do you do in your downtime?” asks Someone From Somewhere. Sligh delivers one of his usual not-exactly-hilarious-but-still-cleverer-than-anyone-else-on-the-show answers: knitting, crocheting, playing bongos in his boxers, he tells Seacrest, whose job it is now to reflexively recoil at the thought of—UGH—a MAN—in UNDERWEAR! Because that shtick never gets old.

Gwen has zero advice for Chris Sligh. She wants him to stay on tempo. “Where's the drummer?” she asks, all jokey, effectively insulting the piano player who's already fed up with her ass. Thanks, Gwen, you make Diana Ross look as effusive as Lulu now.

Sligh's hair is sad tonight. Back when he started this show his curls were big and sassy. Now they look damp and depressed. It's like they sense his mood. He's grown progressively more polite and safe as the season has progressed, and his hair can tell that he's feeling constrained. You just know someone gave him a stern talking-to after his shout-out to Dave from VoteForTheWorst.com last week, so now he's subdued and so is his hair. It's like a Jheri curl on the mopiest member of Kool and the Gang.