THE MYSTERIOUS 5 P.M. MELODY

Why Japan plays a melody every day at 5 p.m.

The very first time I heard it, I honestly had no idea what was happening.

It was late afternoon. I was walking home when, without warning, a gentle melody drifted across the neighbourhood from somewhere above the rooftops.

Not one loudspeaker.

Dozens of them.

For a brief moment I wondered whether I'd accidentally wandered into the opening scene of a Studio Ghibli film.

Or perhaps Japan simply liked providing its residents with a daily soundtrack.

After living here for many years, I've stopped noticing it.

It has simply become part of the rhythm of everyday life.

Visitors, however, often look around in confusion.

'What is that music?'

It's what most people simply call the 5 p.m. chime.

Every afternoon, loudspeakers installed throughout Japanese towns and cities play a short melody lasting around thirty seconds.

In Tokyo, it's usually the nostalgic children's song Yūyake Koyake ('Sunset'), while other municipalities have their own tunes. Some even play the familiar Westminster Chimes, briefly making you wonder whether Big Ben has tired of London and simply relocated.

The surprising thing is that the music isn't actually the main purpose.

The loudspeakers belong to Japan's nationwide disaster warning system.

They're designed to broadcast emergency information about earthquakes, tsunamis, typhoons, missile launches, industrial accidents, missing persons and other urgent announcements.

The music simply serves as a daily test.

Rather than frightening everyone every afternoon with an air-raid siren, the authorities wisely decided that a peaceful melody was a rather more pleasant way of checking that the system still works.

Considering how frequently Japan has to prepare for natural disasters, it makes perfect sense.

The network was introduced in 1964 and now covers well over 90 percent of municipalities across the country.

If a real emergency occurs, those same speakers that gently serenade you at five o'clock can deliver warnings to millions of people within seconds.

The daily melody has another, more nostalgic purpose.

Before smartphones – and before children spent half their afternoons at cram school – it served as an unofficial signal that it was time to head home before dark.

Parents didn't need to check the time. The music did it for them.

Even today you'll occasionally hear local announcements broadcast through the same system.

A lost elderly person.

A missing child.

Warnings about suspicious activity.

Occasionally reminders to stay hydrated during a heatwave.

During the pandemic, they regularly reminded everyone to wash their hands and avoid unnecessary outings.

It is, in many ways, the public address system for everyday life.

I sometimes wonder how this would go down in Switzerland.

The country values peace and quiet so highly that someone mowing the lawn on a Sunday risks becoming less popular than a tax inspector.

Broadcasting music across an entire neighbourhood every afternoon might trigger an emergency meeting of the local residents' association.

Japan, meanwhile, quietly accepts that a little music once a day is a small price to pay for knowing that, when a real emergency happens, everyone will hear the warning.

And that's perhaps the most Japanese part of it.

Even something as potentially alarming as a nationwide disaster alert is introduced with courtesy.

Not a blaring siren.

Just a gentle melody floating across the rooftops.

I also write fiction under the name R.K. Arnold. My debut novel, Love, Secrets, and a Plate of Sushi, is a romantic comedy set across Switzerland, England and Japan.

Read Chapter One free.