The rock gods smile on a few

Let’s not mince words. It’s Rock Week on “American Idol,” so what better time to get down to the nitty-gritty and remember that music is a physical thing?

“Rock” can mean many things -- an amplified noise, an excuse for wearing leather, a way that white guys got to play the blues -- but on the blank blue stage of “Idol,” it was reduced to this: the gale force of breath that rushes through a singer’s body and becomes a storm that startles the crowd screaming at his or her feet. Rock, in the hands of the Final Four on Tuesday, was an act of seizure by force. The winners would be chosen for the absolute irresistibility of their attacks.

This is not usually the case on “Idol”; Kris Allen’s survival proves that a lighter touch can also sometimes work, if paired with gentle good looks, and Danny Gokey reminds us of the appeal of teddy-bear charm. Rock itself is often nothing like a hurricane. But this week, the mentor -- guitarist Slash -- the mostly 1970s-era song selections and the musical arrangements pointed toward one place: the arena. And that, my friends, is a world in which sky gods tossing thunderbolts have always ruled.

It’s a realm currently lying somewhat dormant, at least when it comes to powerful younger talent. (Slash helped make Guns N’ Roses the last great arena rock band). Many think the rock arena is ready to be reconquered by Adam Lambert, whose opening take on Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” not only introduced that essential band’s music to the “Idol” lexicon but continued his quest to bring more artistry, sex and playful transgressiveness to the show. The imaginary arena also proved to be a place where Allison Iraheta could unleash her inner goddess. She did the memory of Janis Joplin proud on “Cry Baby” and, joyfully sparring with Lambert on Foghat’s “Slow Ride,” she helped turn the evening’s new gimmick, proscribed duets, into this season’s least fraught, most purely fun moment.

Not surprisingly, the arena was not such a great spot for poor, gentle Cupids Allen and Gokey.

Had rock been defined differently Tuesday -- if its many historical styles and tribal affiliations had come into play -- the two might have fared better. (A dress rehearsal might have also helped, but an on-set accident that sent the stage manager to the hospital made that impossible.)

Gokey and Allen’s duet might have centered on something soulful by Van Morrison, instead of “Renegade” by Styx. (Styx?!) Allen could have gone country or folkish instead of getting “Come Together,” one of the Beatles’ least pop-sweet songs. Heck, he could have put those doe eyes to use crooning “Yesterday.” Gokey might have loosened his tie for a little New Wave power pop: Huey Lewis would have been perfect. Instead, he auditioned for “Saw VII” with a self-immolating attempt at Aerosmith’s “Dream On.”

In a way, Gokey’s chilling, not at all Steven Tyler-esque screams were the most “rock” thing about the evening. It was certainly the moment that fulfilled Slash’s prediction that this night would be “a little loose around the edges.” If one defining aspect of rock is that it gives its fans a chance to relinquish self-control, well, Gokey took the biggest leap. But this was rock as a god-making sport, and it proved fairly conclusively who the Olympians are in this bunch.

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ann.powers@latimes.com