Coming back, Ryan editorializes that Cortez made a "poor" song choice, so now there are nine other dudes in his line waiting for the judges to make up their mind about him before they can get on with their lives. Mariah says she enjoyed him. Nicki interjects to say he did "a poor job, and I was very, very disgusted by it." Whoa, too soon for Nicki. "You ain't Whitney," adds Randy, always good for an unnecessary interjection. Randy says it wasn't unanimous, but Cortez is still in. And don't do that again.

Choir director Curtis Finch, Jr. impresses the judges again, as does subway busker Frankie Ford. Lazaro Arbos from the Chicago auditions comes to the stage, and we're reminded of his sad story in his own words. Which, given the stutter he lives with, helps fill a lot of airtime. I bet the editors love him; he utters one sentence and they've gone most of a minute without having to make a cut. And then of course he launches into song, a Robbie Williams one this time, and kills it. Ryan's narration remarks on Lazaro's visible flop-sweat during brief clips of other guys in his line before we learn that he's moving on to the next round. The next group includes some unfamiliar faces but decent voices, like Trevor Blakney, Bryant Tadeo, and Charles Allen, all of whom skate though, except Bryant. That's because Nicki rakes him over the coals, getting him to admit he's tired before saying they're sending him home to sleep. Psych! She's kidding. He's not only gotten passage to the next round, he's gotten a valuable lesson in never admitting you're tired.