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GUSTAV HOLST
The Planets (1914–16)

During the first half of the 20th century, Great Britain was blessed with at least five marvelous composers, of whom Edward Elgar and Ralph Vaughan Williams have become a regular part of our concert life—albeit through a mere handful of works—and Frederick Delius and Arnold Bax are perhaps not far behind in making inroads here. But no British master is known through fewer works than Gustav Holst, who despite a large and excellent output remains for most listeners the composer of a single composition: his popular and influential The Planets, which continues to make its mark today in everything from television to Star Wars.

Born in Cheltenham, England, of Swedish, German, and English parentage, Gustavus “von Holst” received his schooling at the Royal College of Music, where he studied harmony and counterpoint with Charles Villiers Stanford. A severe case of neuritis forced him to give up his ambition of becoming a pianist, and he subsequently took an interest in composition. Later he studied trombone and played in the Carl Rosa Opera Company, which proved to be extremely valuable experience for his experiments in orchestral composition. Some have cited his travels in the Far East as being partly responsible for Holst’s streak of mysticism, which colors a number of his works. He was an impressive scholar of languages and learned enough Sanskrit to set parts of the Rig Veda to music.

In any case, it appears that it was partly the astrological significance of heavenly bodies that first sparked the composer’s idea to forge a set of orchestral tone poems to reflect the character of each planet. He began the cycle that became The Planets in 1914, just before the first shots of World War I were sounding in Sarajevo.

The hardships of the war years slowed the work on this unprecedented composition—which took two years to finish—and appear to have influenced the outcome as well. The Planets was completed in 1916 and was first presented in a private performance in London on September 29, 1918, under Adrian Boult’s baton. The public premiere was not until after the war, on November 15, 1920, with Albert Coates conducting.

There are seven movements, each with a distinctive musical character that seems to relate both to the god for which the planet is named and to the quality, mood, or activity that this god has come to represent. (Earth is not represented in The Planets, and although Pluto’s existence had been “theorized” as early as 1919, it wasn’t actually discovered until 1930.) To the very end Holst insisted that his goal was to represent “the character … the astrological significance of the planets,” and that the pieces had no further extramusical meaning. “There is no program music in them,” he said, “neither have they any connection with the deities of classical mythology bearing the same names. If any guide to the music is required, the subtitle to each piece will be found sufficient, especially if it be used in a broad sense.”

But it’s more fun, perhaps, to listen for programmatic ties. “Mars, the Bringer of War,” for example, might well be about the god Mars—but since this god represents war anyway, there is really no way to separate the war-god Mars from the overtly “martial” character that the planet has come to embody. In fact, Holst himself said, on another occasion, that he was seeking here to express “the stupidity of war.” 

In grave contrast, “Venus, the Bringer of Peace” is a lyric love song, not unlike the goddess for whom this most tranquil of planets was named. “Mercury, the Winged Messenger” is a fleet scherzo that conveys the volatile nature of both god and planet. “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity” is less about the imposing nature of this god than about what Holst called the spirit of “one of those jolly fat people who enjoy life.” “Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age” is a ghostly funeral-march that reminds us of the forceful vision of old age and destiny. “Uranus, the Magician,” forceful but mystical, stands as one of the most skillful uses of the modern orchestra of the era.

“Neptune, the Mystic” brings the work to a puzzling yet deliciously lyrical close. Some have claimed to hear the influence of Debussian evocations of “Neptune’s realm”—such as the “Sirens” movement from Nocturnes (which also features a wordless women’s choir), and of course La Mer, a work whose influence could hardly be avoided in the first half of this century. 

—Paul J. Horsley

GUSTAV HOLST
The Planets (1914–16)

During the first half of the 20th century, Great Britain was blessed with at least five marvelous composers, of whom Edward Elgar and Ralph Vaughan Williams have become a regular part of our concert life—albeit through a mere handful of works—and Frederick Delius and Arnold Bax are perhaps not far behind in making inroads here. But no British master is known through fewer works than Gustav Holst, who despite a large and excellent output remains for most listeners the composer of a single composition: his popular and influential The Planets, which continues to make its mark today in everything from television to Star Wars.

Born in Cheltenham, England, of Swedish, German, and English parentage, Gustavus “von Holst” received his schooling at the Royal College of Music, where he studied harmony and counterpoint with Charles Villiers Stanford. A severe case of neuritis forced him to give up his ambition of becoming a pianist, and he subsequently took an interest in composition. Later he studied trombone and played in the Carl Rosa Opera Company, which proved to be extremely valuable experience for his experiments in orchestral composition. Some have cited his travels in the Far East as being partly responsible for Holst’s streak of mysticism, which colors a number of his works. He was an impressive scholar of languages and learned enough Sanskrit to set parts of the Rig Veda to music.

In any case, it appears that it was partly the astrological significance of heavenly bodies that first sparked the composer’s idea to forge a set of orchestral tone poems to reflect the character of each planet. He began the cycle that became The Planets in 1914, just before the first shots of World War I were sounding in Sarajevo.

The hardships of the war years slowed the work on this unprecedented composition—which took two years to finish—and appear to have influenced the outcome as well. The Planets was completed in 1916 and was first presented in a private performance in London on September 29, 1918, under Adrian Boult’s baton. The public premiere was not until after the war, on November 15, 1920, with Albert Coates conducting.

There are seven movements, each with a distinctive musical character that seems to relate both to the god for which the planet is named and to the quality, mood, or activity that this god has come to represent. (Earth is not represented in The Planets, and although Pluto’s existence had been “theorized” as early as 1919, it wasn’t actually discovered until 1930.) To the very end Holst insisted that his goal was to represent “the character … the astrological significance of the planets,” and that the pieces had no further extramusical meaning. “There is no program music in them,” he said, “neither have they any connection with the deities of classical mythology bearing the same names. If any guide to the music is required, the subtitle to each piece will be found sufficient, especially if it be used in a broad sense.”

But it’s more fun, perhaps, to listen for programmatic ties. “Mars, the Bringer of War,” for example, might well be about the god Mars—but since this god represents war anyway, there is really no way to separate the war-god Mars from the overtly “martial” character that the planet has come to embody. In fact, Holst himself said, on another occasion, that he was seeking here to express “the stupidity of war.” 

In grave contrast, “Venus, the Bringer of Peace” is a lyric love song, not unlike the goddess for whom this most tranquil of planets was named. “Mercury, the Winged Messenger” is a fleet scherzo that conveys the volatile nature of both god and planet. “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity” is less about the imposing nature of this god than about what Holst called the spirit of “one of those jolly fat people who enjoy life.” “Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age” is a ghostly funeral-march that reminds us of the forceful vision of old age and destiny. “Uranus, the Magician,” forceful but mystical, stands as one of the most skillful uses of the modern orchestra of the era.

“Neptune, the Mystic” brings the work to a puzzling yet deliciously lyrical close. Some have claimed to hear the influence of Debussian evocations of “Neptune’s realm”—such as the “Sirens” movement from Nocturnes (which also features a wordless women’s choir), and of course La Mer, a work whose influence could hardly be avoided in the first half of this century. 

—Paul J. Horsley