The answer's still no ... Thom Yorke.
Photograph: Matt Carmichael/Getty
Radiohead reacted indignantly when David Cameron claimed, on last weekend's Desert Island Discs, that Thom Yorke and guitarist Jonny Greenwood played the song Fake Plastic Trees at a charity gig as special favour to him. He'd sent a note backstage to request it - it's his favourite Radiohead song, apparently - and when they played it, he took the credit, telling Sue Lawley, "[I said] it's my favourite song, please play it - and he did." Not likely, said Radiohead's PR: "The choice of songs was what they wanted to play - nothing to do with any special requests."
Aside from the fact that Radiohead surely know it would be credibility suicide to get chummy with a Tory leader (not that they discriminate; Yorke recently refused an invitation to meet Tony Blair) their attitude to requests is shared by many bands. It's regarded as naff to entertain suggestions from the audience as to what they'd like to hear. Requests are what cabaret performers do - though on second thought, they don't, as spontaneity isn't a notable feature of cabaret. But pop acts are less spontaneous still. Barring impromptu fistfights (if the Gallaghers are around) or stage-diving, they tend not to diverge from the set-list, which they spent weeks knocking into shape in a rehearsal studio.
Much as they owe their success to the people who come to their gigs, many artists don't even acknowledge requests, ploughing on through their set without even recognising that someone in the third row has spent the last hour wailing the name of their biggest single. And this is the crux of the matter - requests usually only arise when a band fills a show with too many new tunes at the expense of familiar ones.
Much of David Gilmour's current set is given over to a complete run-through of his new album, On an Island, which - according to the Guardian's reviewer - didn't meet with the unqualified approval of his captive audience. Gilmour probably assumed that his previous incarnation in Pink Floyd prepared his fans for lengthy bouts of muso-ness; maybe he just decided that it's his show and he'll play what he damned well likes. As a reward for sticking it out, he eventually got around to a few Floyd numbers and an encore (after three hours!) of Comfortably Numb. Sir, you're too generous.
Now and again, some artist will make a feature of taking requests. David Bowie's 1990 Sound + Vision tour was entirely based on giving the audience what they wanted to hear, via a postal-voting system. The NME took advantage of it and launched a drive to get his great lost 1973 single The Laughing Gnome included. Tragically, though, despite supposedly attracting thousands of votes, the Just Say Gnome campaign failed.
Meanwhile, Elvis Costello's 1989 Spike tour was based around a roulette wheel with song titles on it, a spin of the wheel dictating what was played. The randomness was appealing, but not as appealing as picturing Costello launching into a half-forgotten number from My Aim is True just because someone had asked for it. He didn't, of course - it's not what rock stars do. But perhaps they should?
