The iconic rock group attracted 32,000 fans to Bluesfest on July 15.
 

The concert was exciting, to be sure; it was a sign of Bluesfest’s ever-growing musical diversity and, let’s face it, it was pretty freaking awesome for little Ottawa to play host to such a huge name.
 

Now, I understand why so many people showed up at the concert. In all probability, it was a never-to-be-repeated day in Ottawa’s history. I doubt that KISS will ever come back. I doubt that Ottawa will ever reach that many decibel points outside of YOW ever again.
 

And I don’t mind that middle-aged men who work for the government and carry briefcases during the day ripped out the KISS t-shirts they wore during high school. That’s legit fandom. Long live rediscovering your youth through rip-roaring guitar riffs.
 

I don’t mind that folks who have never listened to a KISS song in their lives went to the concert. Even if you’re not a fan, you probably know that the band’s members are kings of putting on a good show. There’s something about waggling tongues, fireworks exploding from the stage and fur costumes worn at an outdoor festival mid-summer that’s undeniably entertaining to pretty much anyone. I totally understand why curious festival-goers attended the show not for the music, but for the sheer spectacle of it all.
 

But at least they admitted as much.
 

No, what drove me insane, absolutely batty, was to see pre-teens on the bus with me on July 15 in full KISS regalia.

T-shirts. Make-up. The whole shebang.
 

I have no problem at all with pre-teen music fans, but I do have a problem with them trading in their Hello Operator t-shirts, red Converse shoes and skinny jeans for KISS gear because, for 10 days, it was the cool thing to do.
 

I had the sneaking suspicion that these kids didn’t even know who Gene Simmons was ("isn’t that the spandex-wearing exercise guy?") When asked to name one song by the band they probably would have raised their black-nailed hands in a rock salute and sang "I wanna rock the boat all night!"
 

When I debarked the 96 downtown bus route, my worst fears were confirmed. This group of posers wasn’t unique.
 

No, the ground had opened up and Ottawa’s poser population had crawled its way to the surface like so many zombies, brainless and following the crowd.
 

Once upon a time rock music was about being an individual, not giving a shit about what the majority thought or did. Sadly, those days seem long gone.
 

If you’re looking for the posers now, they’ve gone back underground. Simmons is gone, KISS fever has broken and it’s not cool to wear his face on your sleeve anymore.
 

But they’ll be back, the posers, just you wait. All it’ll take is for the Rolling Stones to come to town.