I played a very laid-back restaurant gig a long time ago where a gentleman of a certain age, wearing what I guess you'd have to call bermuda shorts - the sort of guy who would wear shorts to the restaurant - comes up to the band and says, 'Hey, do you know 'Rosita'? It's one of those ones, you know, it goes dah dah DAAH dah ... " His wife is back at the table yelling, "That's not how it goes." Band exchanges glances, and we say, uh ... we'll look in the book. But hey, how about this? and we played "Song for my father" or something.
During the break, I'm grumbling, geez, sometimes I don't want to deal with the requests. And the sax player, not someone I played with very often, says "No man, it's all about the requests - that's when you get a $20 tip for the band!" This made me even crankier. I figure, I'm already wearing a jacket and smiling at people and doing what I get paid for - I see no obligation to kiss ass.
Requests: "Can you play some Frank Sinatra?" "Uh, we just played 'Fly me to the moon." "Yeah, but can you play some Frank Sinatra?"
All that said - I think I probably would spin the bass for fitty buck. But not a damn cent less.