‘Charlie Parker was my delight. He breathed in air, he breathed out light.’

I share unreservedly the poet Adrian Mitchell’s view about jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker, but I grudgingly concede that not everybody holds my enthusiasm for one of the outstanding US musicians of the 20th century, nor for other jazz giants like John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins.

There have been times when unenthusiastic neighbours have asked me to turn down the music. They don’t understand but I have always agreed, however reluctantly.

Meanwhile, I have an undiluted antipathy for all girl bands, all boy bands (especially those from Ireland), Gilbert and Sullivan and what passes for R&B in the 21st century.

Fortunately, my next-door neighbour is a rockabilly freak. We mildly enjoy each other’s taste and tolerate the occasional blast through the wall without conflict.

Music, of course, is so often a power for good in bringing people and communities together and making them feel better. Some years ago, for example, I visited a small supported scheme for people with Alzheimer’s disease in Helsinki, where dance band music from the 1940s and 1950s is played softly all day as part of a cultural programme that seeks to remind people of their past and ameliorate the cruel effects of the disease.

In the recently released (and excellent) British film Fish Tank, a 15-year-old girl frequently escapes from her life of unremitting misery to work on dance moves in an empty flat on the council estate where she lives. It is her only real pleasure.

Watching the film, I wondered what effect her music had on those around her. Many people’s lives are seriously damaged by their neighbours’ music, as frontline housing officers will testify.

English local authorities received nearly 300,000 noise complaints last year, with loud music being the most frequent cause of misery. Many people suffer in silence with the noise around them because they are frightened to speak out or do not know where to go for help.

I frequently field noise complaints, and, at the moment, I am dealing with the case of a woman in her 60s who lives above a slightly younger woman in a Victorian house that was converted into flats in the 1950s.

The flats are poorly insulated and even moderate sound travels freely between them. The downstairs neighbour has her radio on all day (Radio 2, I’m afraid) and her TV in the evening - both at full volume. The noise is driving the woman above mad.

To make matters worse, she previously lived in the attic flat of the house where she enjoyed a quiet life before moving two floors down. She feels, with some justification, that the tenants who moved out or the landlord’s agent, should have warned her about the problem. Had she known about it, she would have stayed put.

Pleas to her neighbour to turn the music down have fallen on deaf ears. Two visits from the landlord’s agents made little difference, and the victim will now pursue the diary sheet route with the help of an environmental health officer. She has no appetite for spying on her neighbour, and her real wish is for a move to a council or housing association flat.

However, a move into social housing is no guarantee of a quiet life, although social landlords generally take their responsibilities on this front more seriously than their private sector counterparts.

The National Noise Survey 2008, carried out by Ipsos MORI on behalf of Environmental Protection UK revealed that social housing tenants (35 per cent) are more likely to be disturbed by their neighbours’ noise than private tenants (31 per cent) and owner-occupiers (25 per cent).

Local authorities bend over backwards to resolve noise complaints peacefully. Where help is sought by a tenant, informal approaches frequently sort out the problems. Mediation services are offered. Preston Council has introduced a scheme where yellow cards are handed out to offenders as a first warning.

But if all else fails, tough action often follows. Salford, Manchester, Sheffield, Gloucester and even genteel Woking are among the many local authorities that have seized audio equipment and televisions and evicted tenants who refused to turn down the volume. Birmingham evicted a woman who played American rapper Eminem so loud that it moved the furniture in her next-door neighbour’s flat.

Once a year, National Noise Week encourages us all to turn down the volume on a voluntary basis. It’s a good thought in a world of high-density living, flimsy walls and better (and louder) sound equipment, where one thoughtless resident can disrupt not only immediate neighbours, but a whole community.

Often part of a wider pattern of anti-social behaviour, other people’s music is an issue that needs the attention of housing organisations and others for 52 weeks of the year. It should be one of the elements covered in good neighbour agreements, like that introduced last month by the Northern Ireland Housing Executive.

Tenants should be tolerant of each other’s lifestyles, says the executive, but they must take responsibility for their actions and those living with them or visiting their homes. Action will be taken against tenants who breach the agreement, it warns.

Many landlords have adopted this approach. Those who haven’t should certainly follow suit, not least those in the private sector. After all, everybody’s entitled to a bit of peace and quiet.

Bill Randall is a housing writer, journalist and Green Party councillor

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