Bucket hats abounded. Adidas tracksuits, soccer jerseys, band merch old and new: Downtown Chicago was swarming with Oasis fans, looking the part. As the throngs spilled out of the pubs, pedicabs blasted the group’s music while whisking ticketholders toward Soldier Field, while most people made their way on foot across the city’s Museum Campus in the Lake Michigan breeze. It felt like a holiday, and in some way it was: The first Oasis show in the United States in nearly 17 years.

On this side of the Atlantic, Oasis were never anywhere near as big as they were in their native UK, where the band’s music became a national institution, or in many other regions around the world. Here, they were mostly the “Wonderwall” guys, the self-parodic brawling brothers. Maybe people knew some of the other ’90s hits from the radio and MTV, but they never invaded our pop culture the way the Beatles and Stones did. That’s the story the pop charts tell. But Oasis were touring arenas in the States during their last North American run in late 2008 — not stadiums, but not exactly midsize clubs either. Long after they’d left the zeitgeist, they were commanding a large audience over here, building a coalition of earnest lovers of bashed-out sing-along rock ‘n’ roll.

Clearly that audience has only grown in the time between Liam and Noel Gallagher’s acrimonious breakup and their momentous reunion this year, which began this summer with gigs all over the British Isles and now has made its way to these shores. Soldier Field is, per Liam, “fuckin’ huge.” Though its capacity is only about 75 percent of New Jersey’s MetLife Stadium, where Oasis will play Sunday and Monday — and though Thursday night’s attendance of 52,000 fell far short of Ed Sheeran’s record 73,000 — I felt dwarfed by the scope of Chicago’s storied coliseum and all the Britpop partisans crammed inside. Are Oasis guaranteeing packed houses by only playing five North American cities (Toronto, Chicago, East Rutherford, Pasadena, Mexico City) and thereby inspiring pilgrimages from all over the land? Maybe, but on the other hand, fuck all this hedging. The overwhelming takeaway from this gig was that, at long last, Oasis have conquered America.

There are plenty of good reasons for the Gallagher brothers’ rise in stature over here. For one thing, Noel’s songwriting has stood the test of time. Three decades later, what many of us once waved away as pastiche holds up as timeless pop-rock craftsmanship. He and Liam kept themselves in the spotlight by trading insults during their time apart, bolstering the band’s legend and helping to introduce them to a new generation via their trademark foul-mouthed feuding. They’re also filling a vacuum by coming back together: As more and more music icons die off, Gen X and millennial listeners are primed to gravitate toward the remaining figures who can pass for true-blue rock stars and offer a glimpse of the old monoculture. In a world where merch is a bigger part of music fandom than ever, brilliant graphic design that matches the band’s keep-it-simple-stupid musical style doesn’t hurt either.

About that style: There is no subtext in Oasis songs. Everything is literal with these guys; each song conks you over the head like Maxwell’s silver hammer. Yet after the band took the stage, Liam and Noel hand in triumphantly raised hand, it was hard not to hear their first couple songs as commentary. “Hello” is an obvious enough introduction when you’re returning from a breakup — from “Had the chance and threw it away/ It’s never gonna be the same!” to “It’s good to be back!” But following that with “Acquiesce” seemed even more pointed: Liam and Noel trading lead vocals, Noel belting out “Cause we need each other, we believe in one another!” on the chorus. All night, these kinds of moments provided a potent sentimental rush. After so many years of vitriol and alienation, hearing the brothers harmonizing on “Stand By Me” felt, to borrow one of Liam’s favorite descriptors, biblical.

Oasis’ live show is not all that flashy for a stadium-scale production. There are big video screens, of course, and fireworks went off at the end. But the band stands still in front of their life-size Pep Guardiola cutout and lets the music move the people. Though he broke into a little march during “Supersonic,” Liam mostly presided over the stage, substituting his substantial aura for showmanship. All night, in his customary sunglasses and anorak, he leaned into his microphone with hands behind his back and uncorked a voice still powerful enough to slice through his bandmates’ dense wall of guitars. In the moments when he wasn’t singing, he sometimes shook his maracas into the mic or goofed around with his tambourine: balancing it on his head, holding it in his teeth. His banter was as concise and heavily accented as we’ve come to expect — which is to say it was perfect, from “Oasis lads in ya area! Chicago fans in ya area!” all the way through to “Alright you beautiful people, this is the mighty ‘Wonderwall.'”

It wasn’t a flawless show. After a lifetime waiting to see “Champagne Supernova” live, I found the band’s encore-concluding rendition to be a bit rushed, as if journeyman drum pro Joey Waronker (who otherwise kicked ass) was pushing the power ballad to the tempo of your standard Oasis rock tune rather than letting its grandeur patiently unfold. At times the limitations of the group’s building blocks became apparent, like when Gem Archer’s lead guitar line in “The Masterplan” closely resembled the solo from “Don’t Look Back In Anger.” But any quibbles about this display were minor compared to the euphoria of howling along to anthems like “Live Forever” with thousands upon thousands of others. In those moments, Oasis really did start to feel eternal.

Filing out of the stadium afterwards was more like leaving a sporting event than a concert, not least of all because local franchise loyalties made their way into the revelry. Shortly after one group broke out in the chorus of “Don’t Look Back In Anger,” sounding not unlike the supporters’ section at a Man City match, another mass of Chicagoans started chanting “Green Bay sucks!” (This was, perhaps, an instance of unbridled cope on a day when the Packers, who’ve had the hometown Bears’ number for years, improved their Super Bowl chances with a blockbuster trade.) It was as if seeing the Gallagher brothers back together had sparked the same kind of jubilation that arises when your team finally wins a championship after years of toil. As we made our way out into the moonlight cityscape, one woman offered some fashion commentary too: “Bucket hat supremacy!”