Joe Piscopo found a serious singing voice to offset his hit-and-miss comedy for a Vegas throwback act. Photo by Ronda Churchill

Who doesn't love Joe Piscopo? I mean, really.

Something about the guy keeps us on his side. His long slide to show-business punch line was more public and embarrassing than the gradual obscurity of other "Saturday Night Live" alumni. We wouldn't rush out to see a nightclub act by Robin Duke or Tim Kazurinsky. But Piscopo? We're there -- or at least willing to give him one more chance to make it right.

He must have engendered enough good will in those early-'80s sketches with Eddie Murphy, or doing that classic Frank Sinatra bit, that he still hasn't exhausted his line of pop-culture credit.

Las Vegas, that city of fresh starts, is even willing to forgive what was said to be one of the lamest showroom efforts in history: an early-'90s act that substituted wacky outfits for actual material.

Now Piscopo reinvents himself as a standards singer in a cabaret show Sundays through Tuesdays at the Las Vegas Hilton. And guess what? The son of a gun still is endearing, even if we wish he were a little better.

Perhaps we like Piscopo because he loves all of us, as he tells the crowd repeatedly. He loves "the locals," and "always appreciates the visitors" too. And don't forget the folks from Chicago, or Iowa -- "The middle of America! I love you!"

He is self-deprecating, calling himself a "dork dad" and joking about his own tabloid headlines: "Do me a favor. Don't run off with the baby sitter," he tells the crowd, talking about the second wife he's now divorcing.

The guy's a mile a minute in his machine-gun chatter, so amped we wish he'd calm down, relax a little. We'd chalk it up to nerves or insecurity, except he is also this way offstage.

Piscopo's new calling does help. Songs provide structure by definition and force him to channel his energy. You've probably heard better versions of "At Long Last Love" or "Night and Day," but he covers them in an agreeably pleasant and powerful voice -- so strong that he was a little too loudly mixed in proportion to the band.

Any singer would benefit from the sextet of local jazz veterans helmed by Vincent Falcone at the piano. Creative arrangements give a solid safety net to the serious singing and even pump up the comedy: a David Letterman "Top 10" list or a country song parody about New Jersey.

It doesn't take long to figure out that Piscopo is one of those sketch comedians who flounder when they're taken out of a team-improv situation. He could learn from Dana Carvey, who figured out at least the basics of translating his "SNL" characters into a stand-up act.

And because he has done straight acting on "Law & Order" and in movies, you'd think Piscopo could put that still-golden Frank Sinatra impression to better use in some sort of performance piece -- maybe a bittersweet monologue -- rather than wasting it on a weak rap parody.

As it is, Piscopo's best material comes from stories about his career: meeting Sinatra or getting called to the stage with Murphy at a Stevie Wonder concert. This is the rudder that could guide the whole ship as he hones and refines the act.

Of course, Wayne Newton can tell you it never hurts to play multiple instruments either. As a fast hour plays out, Piscopo takes a turn on the flute, saxophone and piano, before wrapping the set with a workout at the drum kit for the standard "Sing, Sing, Sing."

If you like this average Joe enough to make it to the Hilton on a weeknight, you'll be forgiving and willing to cut him some slack as he grows into the gig. After all, you should be used to that by now.