Gustav Holst
The Planets

Why did Holst omit Earth? We may never know. The absence of Pluto is easier to explain – the outermost planet of our solar system was only discovered in 1930, twelve years after Holst’s most well-known composition premiered. The suite’s immediate and overwhelming success startled Holst, who had envisioned it as a cutting-edge work inspired by Arnold Schoenberg’s Five Orchestral Pieces. Instead, it became a popular hit, continuing to exert profound influence on composers of any film music set in space.

Holst, who had no esoteric leanings, first developed an interest in astrology during a 1913 summer holiday in Mallorca, where a friend introduced him to the subject. Armed with Alan Leo’s What is a Horoscope and How is it Cast?, Holst began writing horoscopes himself – and dedicated his next project to the stars. He composed a series of seven tone poems, inspired by the astrological “character traits” ascribed by astrologers to each planet – or rather to those born under their influence.

According to Simon Rattle, The Planets is “a very European work.” Holst’s familiarity with contemporary music is evident: Igor Stravinsky’s raw, archaic energy, Richard Strauss’ orchestral opulence and splendour, but also the French Impressionists such as Maurice Ravel, Claude Debussy and Paul Dukas’s influences have all left their traces. Yet Holst’s sound remains distinct, never imitative. The novel sonic blends that fascinated early audiences, however, are less striking today, as countless film scores have drawn from Holst’s palette.

The opening piece, Mars, the Bringer of War, is the most frequently imitated. Strings play col legno, striking their bows against the strings, creating a sound reminiscent of the horrors of the First World War. However, Holst had already completed Mars in the summer of 1914. Moreover, the dominant march is subversive: its unusual 5/4 rhythm would throw any soldier off step. Holst created a mystical atmosphere for Venus, the Bringer of Peace. The orchestra pulses gently, the main motif rises with sensual emphasis, and solo instruments emerge beguilingly – first the violin, then oboe and cello. Then comes Mercury, the Winged Messenger, a piece reminiscent of a classical scherzo: airy, light, and mercurial.

The favourite of British audiences has always been Jupiter. This movement was interpreted patriotically, as “a nostalgic glance at an England that never really existed,” as Simon Rattle remarked. The melody of the slow section took on a life of its own from 1921 onwards, when Holst published it as a hymn under the title “I Vow to Thee, My Country”. It was often sung at funerals, including those of Princess Diana and Queen Elizabeth II. With Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age, Holst conveys not exhaustion, but inner tranquillity, not frailty but wisdom, as the music moves forward with deliberate, measured pace. Uranus, the Magician features brass instruments that repeatedly seem to intone a magical incantation, airy spirits flitting about, until the piece evolves into a kind of witches’ sabbath. Finally comes Neptune, the Mystic. Here, the composer ventured into uncharted territory: the music feels weightless, unreal, ethereal. As the women's choir, placed offstage, sings wordless vocalises in a pianissimo, the suite ultimately vanishes into infinite space.