Oh Canada, what are we missing? Sometimes it seems like the “cultural gap” between our two nations is way too exaggerated by the media (read: comedians). For example, there are Canadians I know and often forget they are foreigners, I once stayed on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls and barely noticed the difference, and our indie rock scene is thoroughly dominated by Canadian bands.

But there’s no denying the Stateside crowd either doesn’t get Sloan or just doesn’t care. They’re fifteen years into a remarkably consistent run of pop-rock albums, with plenty of hits north of the border and nary a one below it. They don’t even sound Canadian either: unlike, say, the Tragically Hip, you could listen to them and never know they weren’t just British. But, like their wonderfully self-reflective and fitting new tune “Fading Into Obscurity” goes, the band “chose to cherish those who thinks there’s some purity / in fading into obscurity.”

If anything, their live show reinforced what was already known about the band: tight, veteran band, great harmonies (sometimes all five members singing), four different songwriters, loyal fanbase, and probably a dozen shoulda-been hits. With a respectable Sunday night crowd belting out the words in full voice, Sloan treated D.C. to a nearly 30-song set, occasionally breaking to joke with the audience or strike a sarcastic “rock pose,” but mostly just blending one song into another and chugging along.

Any Sloan fan worth their salt probably had their own personal favorites amongst the varied but constantly rocking setlist. The older tunes went over the best, like the 80’s metal riffage and handclap pairing of “Money City Maniacs” and the encore take on “Losing California." The Abbey Road song cycle/marathon of their latest, Never Hear the End of It, translated equally well. “Golden Eyes” came off as a George Harrison drone with a melody stolen from Edwyn Collins’ “A Girl Like You” and “Living With the Masses” got a special D.C. hardcore take – both featured drummer Andrew Scott on lead vocals -- but for the most part, the band was better off with Scott’s lively, instinctive play on the kit.

The modern radio-ready “Ill-Placed Trust” with its vampy solo, the trad-rock stomp of “Can’t Put My Finger on It," the Tom Petty-influenced “Will I Belong” – all great and fun, with totally assured performances; the list could go on. Half the thirty songs might have run together, and I know “I Hate My Generation” got played somewhere in there, but for the die-hard fans that turned out, it was undoubtedly a very satisfying night. And for a band that’s survived 15 years of being the next-big thing south of the border, there appears to be an awful lot of fuel left in the tank.