Lani Misalucha offers a song from the musical "Chicago," sharing Society of Seven's knack for costumed tributes and parodies. Photo by Jane Kalinowsky.

Perhaps Steve and Eydie, Don Rickles and other aging Las Vegas performers should check out the way Society of Seven gets around the stage on those Segway pedestrian transporters. They might get a whole new lease on life on the Strip.

But it's important to know that Society of Seven, or SOS to their fans, is using those newfangled scooters for a new bit based on the summer movie "Cars." It's a testament to the group's noble effort to keep its show fresh, at least within the context of its old-Vegas ways.

The veteran Hawaiian show band seemed to arrive in Las Vegas a decade too late, bouncing around five casinos since 2001. Last month, they landed at the Flamingo for a run that -- like last year's stand at Bally's -- is smartly positioned in the afternoon to court the over-45 crowd, albeit with a higher ticket price than most of the afternoon competition.

And the group again gives equal billing to Fillipina singer Lani Misalucha, who brings a stunningly powerful voice to the act while folding right in with the boys' preferred method of shtick: costumed musical sendups of famous stars.

The Society also weathered the death of its best male singer, Gary Bautista, who collapsed from a stroke while performing in February. New singer Marc Escueta has a strong upper-range voice of his own, and in SOS comedy tradition, reports for duty in a pink tutu early in the show. Together, he and Misalucha give the group a balance between a needed injection of youth and the kind of authenticity needed to pull off vaudeville-era sight gags.

A pre-show video showing co-founders Tony Ruivivar and Bert Sagum performing "She Loves You" for Ed Sullivan is evidence of how long the group has been at its formula of spoofery and imitation that somehow evolves into something genuine in its own right over the course of 90 minutes.

The lads follow the "show band" premise of trading instruments and getting all members of the act -- even new drummer Vince Mendoza -- into a wig for an impression of Elton John or L.L. Cool J.

The group needs a little more time to adapt to a new stage where it is squeezed in front of Toni Braxton's set, and the pace has yet to adjust to the addition of several new segments. A 90-minute show last week lagged in part because of Ruivivar over-narrating the early set-ups, and a few imitations that could be shortened or trimmed altogether to get to the good stuff: Misalucha dead-on as Dionne Warwick, or not forgetting Britney Spears' flat bullfrog croak along with the booty-shaking.

If you're looking to find out anything about the real performers, forget it. The group's secret magic is conveying an instant likability that functions in lieu of any personal details, propping up the weaker comedy and making the sincere moments even more heartfelt: Ruivivar's rendition of "I Have Dreamed" or Misalucha's blow-the-doors-off delivery of the Puccini aria "Nessun Dorma."

A showgoer could do worse than opera in an afternoon on the Strip. And despite its obsession with imitations, something about this show rings home as genuine.