Here’s a refreshing novelty. Rather than previewing a forthcoming event, let me tell you about something that isn’t going to happen at all. Namely, music. For 24 hours. Next Wednesday.

Too oblique? Let me elucidate. Two years ago the maverick pop musician Bill Drummond had a quirky idea. Not his first, it must be acknowledged. As a member of the avant-garde band KLF he once burnt a million quid on a bonfire (or at least said he did), to make what was doubtless a very profound point about capitalism, art and, er, bonfires.

But his new idea was more graspable. He found himself irritated by the “nonstop soundtrack” of music that invades almost every aspect of our lives, from ringtones to bus shelters. So he decided to set up No Music Day – symbolically on November 21, so it would form a kind of Hallowe’en to November 22, feast-day of Cecilia, music’s patron saint.

The idea has caught on. Last year thousands attempted to avoid music on November 21. This year the whole of BBC Radio Scotland will be a music-free zone (and no jokes, please, about them playing bagpipe CDs instead; this is a Scot-friendly column).

So the idea has struck a chord around the land, albeit a silent one. I can see why. Music is so ubiquitous now, even (thanks to iPods) when we are alone in the countryside. Consequently, we hear a lot but no longer really listen. Music is crassly hijacked to flog commercial products. It is often itself marketed like a brand of shampoo or instant coffee. Its range is clipped and its power diminished because the pop world perennially recycles the same clichés and the classical world the same old symphonies. The result is a creeping trivialisation of the queen of artforms.

Few people would turn the clock back to preelectric days when music could be experienced only live. Recordings and broadcasts have transformed enjoyment. But because it is now so easy to summon music from eight centuries and five continents with a flick of the finger, music has become devalued. What requires minimal effort is minimally appreciated. Seen in that context, a day dedicated to silence, conversation, natural sounds – or simply to cleansing our aural palettes – is appealing.

In fairness, I should report that the feedback website set up by Drummond contains, besides lots of congratulatory comments, dozens of rude messages from people who think the whole idea is piffle. Last year the most striking came from a Chilean man who pointed out that, having been persecuted by Pinochet for playing banned music, he was not going to let a single day pass without enjoying the freedom to play or sing whatever he chose.

But in a paradoxical way, that rather proves Drummond’s point. If we are deprived of music, our appetite for it is sharpened enormously. The thought-provoking concept of

No Music Day is surely to be welcomed, even if – in practice – the tunes will still blare out across Britain (except at BBC Radio Scotland, obviously). Now I would like a No E-Mailing Or Texting Day – just to remind us that, after music, human speech is still the most potent mode of communication yet invented. www.nomusicday.com

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