This past week, Apple gave us all a little glimpse into a slightly less annoying and slightly more terrifying future. The crystal ball in question was a freshly approved patent (filed by Apple in 2011) for “Systems and methods for receiving infrared data with a camera designed to detect images based on visible light.’’

The curious poetics of patents tend not to make their purposes immediately clear, but the general gist of Apple’s proposed technology is a way to use infrared signals to transmit encoded messages to phones, which can then be used to trigger various functions within the phone. One of the imagined applications of this involves an Aztec water jug on view at a museum, equipped with an infrared doodad that can transmit information about itself to a visitor’s smartphone display. That’s pretty cool. Go art.

A second example, meanwhile, demonstrates how these same infrared signals could be used to disable your camera. Wait, what?

“For example, an infrared emitter can be located in areas where picture or video capture is prohibited, and the emitter can generate infrared signals with encoded data that includes commands to disable the recording functions of devices.’’

If your imagination races toward paranoia as eagerly as mine does, you are probably radiating a distinct glow of “hell no.’’

Aztec jug enhancements aside, this technology sounds rather straightforwardly like a despot’s daydream, but it’s really just the next step of a growing trend in public space: the creation of “no phone zones.’’

Years into the smartphone era, we still haven’t quite figured out how to square their ubiquity and utility with the irritation caused by both.

The front rows of concerts, for instance, have become the front lines of etiquette, with frustrated mobiphobic artists sometimes taking matters (i.e. smartphones) into their own hands. Sometimes this means preemptive finger wagging, sometimes it means shaming or scolding or pleading; and on special occasions, it means grabbing the phone and throwing it as hard as you can. (We call this move “The Frampton.’’)

Even Adele, (whom nothing seems to rattle save for the ups and downs of youngish love) recently admonished a fan at a performance in Italy. “Can you stop filming me with the video camera, because I’m really here in real life. You can enjoy it in real life rather than through your camera.’’

This conceit, that recording a concert with a camera is a shameful public display of one’s disregard for “the moment,’’ is a stubborn and popular one. By holding a phone up in the standard Statue of Liberty style, not only are you annoying those behind you (true), and the people onstage (maybe), but worse, you are denying yourself the unique thrill of paying attention (ehhh. . .).

It’s nice to know how deeply concerned artists are about the purity of their audience’s experience; but there’s likely another factor that matters much more here: copyright control.

HD cameras and increasingly sophisticated sound recording capabilities in smartphones make every phone-toting concertgoer a potential bootlegger — a threat to the already thinly drawn bottom line of touring artists. Plus, with thousands of iPhones drawn, the odds of being represented online by your best angles or most polished performances are slim to none.

In the absence of Apple’s proposed posterity-blocker, some artists (like Alicia Keys and Louis CK) have adopted a provisional solution in the form of Yondr. Yondr is a system that aims to interrupt the “compulsive habit’’ of smartphone use at events by literally locking them up. Upon entering a Yondr-ized space, attendees are given a small pocketable pouch to tuck their phones into. These pouches automatically lock when they pass into a designated geofenced area, stymieing reflexive attempts by audience members to tweet, snap, or otherwise ruin everything for everyone. It’s sort of like the cone you put on a dog’s head to keep it from licking its wounds, only more embarrassing.

Should the temptation to tweet become too much to bear, or if any of the 10 billion other reasons you might want your phone handy when out for the night suddenly become relevant, you can simply retreat from the crowd (because that’s always easy) to a cordoned-off zone where your pouch can be unlocked and your phone freed for use. (Texters are the new smokers.) Yondr allows you to really experience the moment of having to push through a thousand people in order to read an urgent text from the baby sitter. Your night might be ruined, but at least Alicia’s isn’t.

It’s not hard to forecast an immediate future where Yondr’s clunky phone cozies seem positively quaint — an attempt to enforce an idea of an ideal, hardware in service of etiquette. It’s also easy to imagine Apple’s camera-blocking beams leading to infringements on civil liberties, freedom of the press, and even personal safety. That the infrared technology is far less visible than Yondr pouches somehow only makes its presence more foreboding.

Given the choice of two realities — one where artists maintain total control over their image and their audience’s attention, and the other where I tweet about how fierce Alicia is, and oh, maybe have the option of reaching the outside world in the event of an emergency — I’m going to pick the latter. The whole reason we built this Internet thing in the first place is to connect like we’ve never connected and freely share our experiences, not to have those capabilities metered out when deemed most appropriate.

If ever I’m in front of you at a show and my incessant selfie spree is driving you nuts, you’re welcome to tap me on the shoulder and tell me so (I’ll stop, I promise). It may not be as effective as an infrared beam, but it’s a far more civilized way to shut down a shutterbug.

Michael Andor Brodeur can be reached at mbrodeur@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @MBrodeur.