Hard rock takes joy from sips of $10 Scotch

I don't consider myself much of a cultural warrior.

I'm not the type to lose sleep over whether gays should marry, and when people ask what I think of a Latino woman becoming a Supreme, I tend to think, "Diana Ross must be losing her voice."

Still, there are certain cultural icons that make my nerves stand on end, the central one being classic rock. Enter just about any bar, restaurant, retail store or laundromat and you'll find that someone, at some time, installed an endless loop of 1970s hard rock songs onto the sound system.

Some marketing studies suggest consumers will spend more freely when being serenaded by pop songs from their youth, which only makes sense. Consider how many TV commercials lure us into buying dust mops, SUVs and soft drinks by beating us over the head with music from the early MTV days.

Call me crazy, but on the occasions when I can afford to splash some cash on an evening out, the last thing I want interrupting my $50 steak dinner is Led Zeppelin wailing psychedelic noise over my meal.

Unfortunately, that's what was happening during a recent visit to the Sewickley Hotel. Typically, the place is a portrait of suburban sophistication with soft lighting, aged wood paneling and quiet conversation backed by jazz tracks.

It didn't even have TV until last year. Even now, the TV is tuned to financial news channels, not the annoying, ubiquitous sports broadcasts seen everywhere else.

Yet on a recent Friday, I walk through the door, only to be assaulted by "BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I ROCK AND ROLLED!" at a volume that wouldn't have been out of place in an auto body shop.

I tried my best to settle in and get comfortable, but solace was not on the menu.

Somehow, it's impossible to quaff down a single malt Scotch whisky when the soundtrack says jello shooters and 25-cent pitchers.

I relayed this opinion to the bartender, fully expecting to be told to shove off as I have been at other establishments where I wage my one-man crusade against Foghat, Molly Hatchet and AC/DC.

Much to my surprise, he listened. "Loud, classic rock says, Penguins victory after-party," I explained. "It says wet T-shirt contests, mullets and cole slaw wrasslin', not $10 glasses of Scotch and prime rib."

The bartender explained that he'd grown tired of jazz and was looking for an alternative, and confessed that loud, guitar rock was something of an anathema to his restaurant's genteel atmosphere. In moments, I could hear the soft bleat of Miles Davis' trumpet and my Scotch suddenly went down a little more smoothly.

Now, about those 500 other local bars still playing Led Zeppelin ...