As we lead up to Requestival, where we’re asking you to tell us what to play all week, we’re reflecting on what it is about asking someone to play your favourite jam that remains such a vital part of music culture.
I mean. It’s weird, right?
We live in an age where literally any song in human history is just a few clicks away - and yet people still love requesting somebody else hit play on their song of choice.
Requesting songs used to be a necessity. Even before music streaming, when CDs overtook vinyl as the dominant household listening medium, if you wanted to hear a song you didn’t have in your collection, getting a DJ to spin it was the simplest way to do it.
But it’s not just a transactional relationship. It’s about the interaction. When Bridget spins your fave bop on Good Nights, she’s getting something out of it as well.
“I see requests as a way to connect with fellow music fans,” she explains. “Good Nights isn’t just me showing off my expertise or whatever, it’s genuinely sharing a platform where we can all get excited about the new music that moves us. Sharing those moments and feelings is really special and fulfilling.”
As YouTube and music platforms have obliterated the concept of hunting down an obscure track, requesting has evolved into something performative. A way to peacock your taste, boost the artists you stan, or shout out a loved one in a grand gesture.
Besides, it’s a lot more fun convincing a radio station or presenter to play you a song than Siri or Alexa.
Where did the tradition start?
There was a time when the only way to hear the latest song was through the radio.
We’re not even talking about calling up your local station – can you believe it was actually illegal for Australian broadcasters to put callers to air until 17 April 1967?
As far back as the 1920s, the first US radio stations would be flooded with letters (aka the DM of the post-war era) requesting specific songs. And there’s one demographic in particular we have to thank for the popularity of song requests: housewives.
As the name suggests, Housewives’ Choice was a morning request program on the BBC intended for a nation of British women stuck at home while their partners worked. The idea was simple: Mrs. Norris would mail in with her request and receive a reply in the post about the particular date and time her tune would be played.
This created a kind of viral message that was spread through the local community so that friends and relatives would also tune in.
‘Damn Doris, I heard your delightful ditty ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' on the wireless this morning. Smashing!’
The show proved so popular that it ran from 1946 to 1967 and supplied the BBC with a dedicated means of researching audience tastes, with staff dispatched all over Britain to survey what people were listening to and what they liked.
In Australia, similar shows began popping up through the ‘60s and ‘70s, and the request and radio quickly became inseparable; a symbiotic relationship that seamlessly fused the interactive listening experience with market research. It bound music lovers to the radio stations that adhered to their tastes and gave said stations a promotional advantage and dedicated audience because they’d play what you want to hear.
This organically led to the rise in the request’s attention-seeking cousin, the countdown format –typically a weekly show that plays out what’s big on the singles chart. (Anyone remember Rick Dees and the Weekly Top 40?)
triple j obviously turned that idea into its own special brand, where we countdown 100 of the hottest songs of a year according to votes. You might’ve heard of it…
As the internet and streaming services cannibalised the need for a weekly chart radio format and scratched the obscure song craving itch, you might have thought song requests would go the way of the MiniDisc. So why have they continued? Because requesting is about something much more human than marketing.
A song for that… special someone
Anyone who grew up on the East Coast in the late ‘90s probably remembers more than a few nights eavesdropping on the lonely hearts on Love Song Dedications, the weeknight show hosted by Richard ‘The Love God’ Mercer on FM radio.
For over 16 years, he and his dulcet tones helped folks dedicate the cheesiest of tunes to their special someone.
You’d listen in and wonder about the backstories of these lovestruck voices of the airwaves. Who was Brett really? And how did Boyz II Men end up being his and Sharon’s song? Who knows, maybe you’d recognise yourself in somebody else who also believed nothing says “I love you” quite like Celine Dion warbling about her heart going on.
Even if you’re not of the generation directly exposed to Love Song Dedications, you’ve no doubt heard or seen variations on the exact same idea a dozen times.
The first time triple j got in on the request action was when we started our national roll-out from 1989, with a four-hour Saturday night show called The J-Club, hosted by Gayle Austin and produced by – in one of his first gigs at the station – Richard Kingsmill.
Since then, we’ve had a long history with the songs you wanna hear. From ‘90s programs Request Fest and The Net 50 weekly countdown, to Super Request – the evening show that preceded Good Nights – and current listener-driven segments like the Lunchtime Legend and F**k Off Fridays.
“Requests are the most simple and possibly best form of radio; you ask, we play, everyone listens,” says triple j's former Content Director Ollie Wards.
For nearly 40 years, it’s been our best indication of what Aussies are into and how much our tastes have changed. From phone lines jammed with requests for Tool and Powderfinger in the ‘90s to texts for The Strokes, The Presets, and Missy Higgins in the ‘00s.
“Even with the world’s back catalogue in your pocket, there’s just something about showing a mate your favourite new tune,” Ollie adds. “And triple j listeners are no different.”
I request therefore I am
It’s arguably what’s helped radio endure all kinds of competitors for listener attention over the decades, whether it was CDs, music TV, iPods, or streaming services.
The humble idea of the request has endured because it’s such a basic concept, tapping into a primal human desire to sonically satisfy a craving, but also because it has the potential to create those kinds of special moments you simply couldn’t fabricate.
It isn’t really about the song. Like so much about the mysterious, magical appeal of music, it’s about the magnetic human connections that come with it.
“Whether it’s sharing the same excitement for a new track or even debating our contrasting views, I really value having that moment with someone else who is just as passionate as I am,” says Bridget Hustwaite.
“It’s even better when a listener introduces me to a new act, like Bethan from Perth, who got me on board the smooth RnB sounds of Emotional Oranges in 2018. Or even speaking to Ariel from Pillar Valley, who basically penned an open love letter on air to the posthumous album from Mac Miller.”
It’s the emotional attachment and significance that we have to the music as much as the need to hear it. It’s about seeking out souls who identify and froth on a song as much as we do.
It might not always look like it, but when someone hammers the triple j textline with demands to "PLAY TOOOL!!!!1!!1" … it’s coming from the same place as the energy of an arm-in-arm singalong with a stranger at a festival; as receiving a mixtape from your crush, or nailing the road trip soundtrack when you’re passed the aux cord.
It’s a shared experience. A community service. It connects us, just like it connected the British housewives of the 1940s. To request makes us human - it separates us from the animals (and algorithms).
Download or update the triple j app and tell us what you wanna hear! Requestival returns 6am-10pm, Monday 26 until Friday 30 September.