By Michael Moriarty

The subject of the Twelve Tone School of Music as it mirrors the Communist Revolution is such a huge demand upon a reader, both musically literate and otherwise, that I feel I might carry this series of indictments for who knows how long.

À propos of that, I recall an evening of music performed by the son of a former friend – the death of the friendship seems to have no political subtext but, one never knows these days – that "entertainment," so to speak, was utterly "free-form jazz." The only one obliged to carry some memory of the underlying chord structure was the guitarist who had obviously been trained classically at one time or another. I left impressed by the musician’s lovely, Paul Desmond-like intonation and the savage labor of the other horn man’s efforts at making his instrument sound like a slaughtered animal.

These "torments," as they appeared to be, brought this alto saxophonist to frequent quot;wailingly" evocative fetal positions on the stage. Yes, a visual element was brought into play as well. He squawked and squeaked his self-torturing way through his endless solo choruses and certainly received the loudest applause. An "A++" for effort. The achievement was, of course, how to make a musical instrument sound like something else. The only relief derived from the perfect intonation of his partner. However, musically I’d give the whole evening an F. Dramatically, on the other hand, it deserves a B-.

While gazing at this horn-blowing, animated figure from an Edvard Munch or Oskar Kokoshka sketch, I had no idea that Arnold Schoenberg’s musical revolution still gripped these youth by the veritable quartertones.

I’m not sure how historically informed this artist was. Besides, none of that European influence on American jazz is talked about publicly, except when the performer is famous enough to be hanging out with Wynton Marsalis, or when Ken Burns, the creator of the Jazz series on PBS, discusses his "musicianship" with a seriously committed TV journalist like Charlie Rose.

The "Beast" of William Butler Yeats’ Second Coming, will indeed "be born, slouching towards Bethlehem," with self-proclaimed Communist artists, like the actress Vanessa Redgrave, cheering on the Palestinian Movement’s homicidal contract on Israel.

Once you know the French Revolution was the baby shower for this monster, everything takes on the appearance of a 212-year-old, Hollywood action melodrama. Standing with Schoenberg, Alban Berg and Anton Webern are Maximilien Robespierre, Napoléon Bonaparte, Louis Napoléon III, Josef Stalin, Mao Zedong and, interestingly enough, Adolf Hitler.

The 20th Century artist’s commitment to unleashing his inner "beast" was no more fully enacted, in that century-long nightmare, than by the Fuhrer. The Master of the Third Reich’s early desires to be a painter and his subsequent rejection by the Viennese Academy of Fine Arts did not end his days of involvement with Vienna’s cultural community. The boiling rage, within that community of European artists, was fomented by the community itself. Since 19^th-Century "post-Marxist" art predated World War II by 75 years, it would be hard to say whether the artists of that period were prophets of the Holocaust or actual agents-provocateurs.

However, if my theory that these self-loathing periods resulted in the destruction of man’s conscience, as indicated by governments’ increasing contempt for its citizens, then this monstrous "tumor" in the soul of man will burst. Indeed, the transformation of an exquisite musical instrument into a howling animal, emitting sounds of violence, will be the inevitable prelude to the "Beast’s" own self-destruction. The "tumor" will explode and what is left of Karl Marx’s malignant challenge to Christ will end in the same way it ended for Judas; only this time it will be a megaton, Comrade-assisted Suicide.