Bill Filer definitely takes requests. The Halfmoon Township guitarist gets them all the time at the Allen Street Grill, his longtime weekly gig. Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, they fly at him from diners and bar patrons often within arm’s reach.

Van Morrison. The Eagles. Neil Young. Santana. Jimmy Buffett.

They’re all on a lengthy song list skewed toward classic rock, singer-songwriters and soul — hundreds of titles his audience can select.

“Because I got tired of people yelling, ‘Free Bird,’ ” he said.

Such is life for a cocktail entertainer. There’s little space to stand, and no room for ego.

“I have no illusions about my job,” Filer said. “My job is to help people have a good time, and I’m incredibly fortunate to be able to do that.”

From Altoona originally, Filer graduated from Penn State in the late 1970s with a degree in electrical engineering. He worked as an engineer for a while, but the strain of holding down a day job, teaching guitar on the side and playing with rock bands sometimes late into the night began to take a toll.

Something had to go, and it wasn’t going to be the music.

Filer, with a wife and two sons to support, plunged into playing for a living. The Allen Street Grill gig started about 15 years ago. At first, he alternated with two other musicians, but after a few years, they left and he had the place to himself.

It’s been a steady check ever since, although his business, Audible Images Recording Studio, largely pays the bills. Filer built the studio in his home, using his electrical skills, and now runs sessions for musicians of all stripes and fame.

For his performances, he brings a couple of drum machines, a keyboard and a fine-tuned sense of volume. Sometimes, he kills them softly.

“There might be people there eating dinner, and I have to be quiet, and I have no problem with that,” he said.

Nor does he mind people standing almost on top of him; it comes with the territory. He does draw the line at customers drunkenly commandeering the microphone when he’s on break — an occupational, if rare, hazard.

Though he’s a third-degree black belt in Kong Soo Do, a Korean martial art, he usually can defuse the situation with humor. Other affronts draw a more curt response.

“Occasionally, someone asks me for Lady Gaga,” he said. “And I say, ‘I don’t do Lady Gaga.’ ”