The Planets, Op. 32
Gustav Holst (1874-1934)
Mars, the Bringer of War (Allegro); Venus, the Bringer of Peace (Adagio); Mercury, the Winged Messenger (Vivace); Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity (Allegro giocoso); Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age (Adagio); Uranus, the Magician (Allegro); Neptune, the Mystic (Andante)
‘The Planets’ suite is uniquely negative in that it is not a symphony, a tone poem, a ballet, a divertissement, or a serenade; it tells no story, its movements are unconnected musically, and nothing beyond its title appears to bind it as a single work. After the public première of the entire composition in 1920, Gustav Holst was happy initially for people to select which bits to perform; as a consequence the use of selected movements became commonplace. Their order was juggled as well, for example ‘Jupiter’ was sometimes played as a finale to send the audience home in a happy frame of mind. Each movement is named after a planet in the solar system. Pluto is absent because it wasn’t discovered until 1930, and the Earth is excluded because it is not ‘astrological’.
Holst insisted that the planetary connections had astrological rather than astronomical significance. Put another way: think horoscopes; forget telescopes. Because rational folk seem reluctant to ‘think horoscopes’, the matter is rarely discussed at length in relation to this music, and will not be explored here beyond a surmise that Holst’s interest in astrology might be likened to Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle’s belief in fairies. Some commentators have explored the links with classical mythology, the most obvious being Mars with war, and Mercury with a messenger. Such associations cannot be applied throughout, so we are left with the descriptions appended by Holst, most preceded by ‘the Bringer of…’. They set the mood for each movement, and may account for an understanding of and affection for the suite that have endured for almost a century. They also suggest that these seven disparate pieces belong together after all.
The conventional uses of traditional structures such as ‘sonata form’ are set aside in favour of creating an immediate impact, rather like the effect of paintings on a gallery wall. Each movement contains noteworthy features. Holst was adamant that ‘Mars, the Bringer of War’ had no connection with the Great War that ended within months of the music’s completion. He insisted that he had started to compose it before the war began. The use of dissonance is remarkable for the time. Could Holst have studied the score of Igor Stravinsky’s ‘Rite of Spring’, premièred in 1913? Support for this surmise appears below in connection with ‘Saturn’. ‘Venus, the Bringer of Peace’ contrasts with ‘Mars’ in that it abandons dissonance in favour of modality. In plain language, it has a whiff of English folk music, one of Holst’s musical fingerprints, discernible elsewhere in the suite.
Commentators have suggested that Holst was paying homage to other composers by using some of their compositional devices. The quick-silver quality of ‘Mercury, the Winged Messenger’ (pun intended) might be a nod in the direction of Claude Debussy. The sixth movement, ‘Uranus, the Magician’ bears a resemblance to ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ by Paul Dukas. In contrast, ‘Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity’, the fourth movement, is pure Holst: folksy, rich in melody and colourfully orchestrated. Through a melange of tunes, it provides momentum, sustains interest and stokes patriotism, even though its themes blend uneasily, if at all. The central melody is now familiar as the 1923 hymn, ‘I Vow to Thee My Country’, with words by Cecil Spring Rice, a British diplomat. Alongside Hubert Parry’s ‘Jerusalem’ and Edward Elgar’s ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, it scores highly on the tear-jerkometer.
The processional quality of ‘Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age’ has been compared to the opening of Part 2 of Igor Stravinsky’s ‘Rite of Spring’, as hinted above. The final movement, ‘Neptune, the Mystic’, contains a remarkable innovation, since imitated by others. The off-stage wordless singing of a female chorus, fading to silence, was the first example of its kind, perhaps prompted by Josef Haydn’s ‘Farewell Symphony’ but entirely novel in effect. Holst directed that an off-stage door should be closed gradually so that the audience would be uncertain as to when the end had been reached.
Gustav Holst (1874-1934)
Mars, the Bringer of War (Allegro); Venus, the Bringer of Peace (Adagio); Mercury, the Winged Messenger (Vivace); Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity (Allegro giocoso); Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age (Adagio); Uranus, the Magician (Allegro); Neptune, the Mystic (Andante)
‘The Planets’ suite is uniquely negative in that it is not a symphony, a tone poem, a ballet, a divertissement, or a serenade; it tells no story, its movements are unconnected musically, and nothing beyond its title appears to bind it as a single work. After the public première of the entire composition in 1920, Gustav Holst was happy initially for people to select which bits to perform; as a consequence the use of selected movements became commonplace. Their order was juggled as well, for example ‘Jupiter’ was sometimes played as a finale to send the audience home in a happy frame of mind. Each movement is named after a planet in the solar system. Pluto is absent because it wasn’t discovered until 1930, and the Earth is excluded because it is not ‘astrological’.
Holst insisted that the planetary connections had astrological rather than astronomical significance. Put another way: think horoscopes; forget telescopes. Because rational folk seem reluctant to ‘think horoscopes’, the matter is rarely discussed at length in relation to this music, and will not be explored here beyond a surmise that Holst’s interest in astrology might be likened to Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle’s belief in fairies. Some commentators have explored the links with classical mythology, the most obvious being Mars with war, and Mercury with a messenger. Such associations cannot be applied throughout, so we are left with the descriptions appended by Holst, most preceded by ‘the Bringer of…’. They set the mood for each movement, and may account for an understanding of and affection for the suite that have endured for almost a century. They also suggest that these seven disparate pieces belong together after all.
The conventional uses of traditional structures such as ‘sonata form’ are set aside in favour of creating an immediate impact, rather like the effect of paintings on a gallery wall. Each movement contains noteworthy features. Holst was adamant that ‘Mars, the Bringer of War’ had no connection with the Great War that ended within months of the music’s completion. He insisted that he had started to compose it before the war began. The use of dissonance is remarkable for the time. Could Holst have studied the score of Igor Stravinsky’s ‘Rite of Spring’, premièred in 1913? Support for this surmise appears below in connection with ‘Saturn’. ‘Venus, the Bringer of Peace’ contrasts with ‘Mars’ in that it abandons dissonance in favour of modality. In plain language, it has a whiff of English folk music, one of Holst’s musical fingerprints, discernible elsewhere in the suite.
Commentators have suggested that Holst was paying homage to other composers by using some of their compositional devices. The quick-silver quality of ‘Mercury, the Winged Messenger’ (pun intended) might be a nod in the direction of Claude Debussy. The sixth movement, ‘Uranus, the Magician’ bears a resemblance to ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’ by Paul Dukas. In contrast, ‘Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity’, the fourth movement, is pure Holst: folksy, rich in melody and colourfully orchestrated. Through a melange of tunes, it provides momentum, sustains interest and stokes patriotism, even though its themes blend uneasily, if at all. The central melody is now familiar as the 1923 hymn, ‘I Vow to Thee My Country’, with words by Cecil Spring Rice, a British diplomat. Alongside Hubert Parry’s ‘Jerusalem’ and Edward Elgar’s ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, it scores highly on the tear-jerkometer.
The processional quality of ‘Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age’ has been compared to the opening of Part 2 of Igor Stravinsky’s ‘Rite of Spring’, as hinted above. The final movement, ‘Neptune, the Mystic’, contains a remarkable innovation, since imitated by others. The off-stage wordless singing of a female chorus, fading to silence, was the first example of its kind, perhaps prompted by Josef Haydn’s ‘Farewell Symphony’ but entirely novel in effect. Holst directed that an off-stage door should be closed gradually so that the audience would be uncertain as to when the end had been reached.