Imagine singing “Amazing Grace” to the tune of “Gilligan’s Island,” (and vice versa, too). Or loosely translating the Spanish lyrics of the pop tune “La Bamba” into “La, la, la, listen to your mama.” That’s just what the Chenille Sisters did Saturday night at the Maine Center for the Arts, where they satisfyingly entertained a good-humored crowd of homecoming-weekend visitors.

From the delicious rhymes of “Chocolate, I Love You,” to the textured bluesyness of the Murphy Sisters ’30s tune “Hummin’ to Myself,” these sparkling chanteuses deftly unrolled their nightclub routine in the large concert hall.

Though their sisterhood little to do with genes, the Michigan-based Chenilles — Cheryl Dawdy, Grace Morand, and Connie Huber — are tightly related in song with beautifully versatile vocal ranges. They have the dead-on harmonies of the best women’s groups in the business, but defy being labelled purely as a 40s-style trio, however. Their textured vocals, which have won them recognition with five recordings and on Garrison Keillor’s “Prairie Home Companion,” are every bit as rich as the Andrews or Boswells. But their wacky humor and topical trenchancy align them more with contemporary musical gagsters such as new-wave a cappella group The Bobs, or sweetie-pie cynic folk-girl Christine Lavin.

Like The Bobs and Lavin, the Chenilles showed they can successfully shift from giggly themes as in the songs “I Am a Can of Tuna” and “Girl Shoes,” to somber stories like the lost-love ballad “Roadmaps” or the sentimental “Plastic Roses,” about a lonely nursing-home resident whose memories of her husband are contained in a bouquet of artifical flowers.

The Chenilles, who proudly wear mismatched, thrift-store threads and costume jewelry, were at their most bubbly when they were hamming it up in their goofy stage show. They donned full, flowing wigs, a la Cher and Farrah Fawcett, for “Big Hair,” a sassy tune about how mighty manes inspire confidence in women. “Kitchen percussion instruments” — a jar of Newman’s Own Popcorn shaken like a maraca and an empty box of Quaker Oats tapped with an ice cream scoop — were other clever additives.

Although the combination of strong voices was exquisitely sweet and the good-humored emcee job was nicely balanced between these three articulate women, Huber’s skillful accompaniment on acoustic guitar was vital. Without her masterful backup, and really without her comic personality and sharp spontaneity with the audience, this groovy group would be hard-pressed to create such a solidly crisp and bemusing character, the likes of which endeared them to the crowd Saturday night.