Touring the Solar System with Holst's The Planets
The Backstory

The Planets, Op. 32

Holst presenting the backstory of his The Planets
Gustav Holst here, and what follows is the backstory of my suite The Planets. You'll learn how a holiday conversation about astrology grew into a suite that was first played in 1918 for a small audience of invited guests. Here on this site, my fellow composers and I also teach you to recognize our music whenever it plays, so why not  test yourself in the Trainer ?
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A Holiday That Went Astral

In the spring of 1913 I took a holiday in Spain with my friends Balfour Gardiner, Arnold Bax and Clifford Bax. Somewhere between the sightseeing, astrology came up in conversation, and it took hold of my imagination. People often assume the suite is about astronomy or mythology, but my starting point was astrology, the idea that each planet has a character of its own. I first thought of calling the whole thing "Seven Pieces for Large Orchestra", which is a title only a composer could love.

Composing on Sundays

I wrote the suite between 1914 and 1917, and I had to fit it around my teaching at St Paul's Girls' School and Morley College. That meant most of the work happened at weekends and on holidays, a bit like building a ship in a bottle but only on days off. Mars came first and Mercury came last, in early 1916, and I finished the orchestration in 1917. It was a slow way to build something so large, but it gave me plenty of time to live with each planet.

A Quiet Man in Loud Times

While I was writing, I was director of music at St Paul's Girls' School, and I had been turned down for military service as unfit. My friends George Butterworth and Cecil Coles were both killed in the war, and their loss was never far from my mind. I won't claim that those years explain the music, because the suite began before any of it happened. But I'll leave it to you to decide what you hear in the quieter pages.

Seven Courses, One Dinner

A movement is a self-contained section of a big piece, rather like the courses of a dinner, each with its own flavour and yet all belonging to the same meal. Mars brings war, Venus brings peace, and Mercury darts past as a fast, light-footed messenger. Jupiter is the cheerful feast, Saturn is old age with a ticking clock, and Uranus is a magician whose tricks get out of hand. Neptune, the mystic, closes the meal almost in silence, and I ordered the seven by what works best in the concert hall, not by their distance from the Sun.

A Very Crowded Stage

I asked for a large orchestra, and that includes an organ, a celesta, two harps and tubular bells. There are also six timpani, which need two players to keep up with them. In Saturn those bells and the timpani are the only percussion, so the movement manages to be huge without being noisy all the way through. For Neptune I add a wordless women's chorus placed offstage, and at the very end the door to their room is slowly closed so the voices seem to drift into nothing.

A Concert for Two Hundred and Fifty Friends

The first performance took place on 29 September 1918 at the Queen's Hall in London, with Adrian Boult conducting. The audience was about 250 invited guests, and my friend Balfour Gardiner paid for the whole event, which is a generous thing to do for a holiday conversation. People still argue about whether to call it the real premiere, since one account says it was private and puts the public premiere in February 1919. That account adds that Boult conducted only five of the seven movements then, so the full suite had to wait a while.

Von Holst Becomes Holst

That same September of 1918 I made another change, and this one was to my name. I was working in Salonica as the YMCA's musical organiser, and the YMCA felt that "von Holst" sounded too German. So I dropped the "von" by deed poll and became plain Holst. It's a small thing, but my name and my best-known music both reached the public at about the same time.

The Critics Make Up Their Minds

The first complete public performance came on 15 November 1920, with the London Symphony Orchestra under Albert Coates. The score was published in 1921 by Boosey & Hawkes, and by then the reviewers had mostly decided they liked it. Of 37 publications that have been surveyed, 28 were positive, though the critics at The Globe and The Sunday Times were hostile. To my surprise and dismay the suite became a success, and I disliked hearing single movements played apart from the whole.

A Tune Goes to Church

In 1921 I took the big central tune of Jupiter and adapted it as a hymn tune called "Thaxted". It is now sung to the words of "I Vow to Thee, My Country", so many people know it without ever having heard Jupiter. My daughter Imogen felt that this association compromised the movement, and I understand why. Saturn is reported to have been my own favourite, and if you want to hear what I treasured, listen for those slow, tolling bells.

Pluto Arrives Late

The suite has travelled a long way, influencing rock bands and film scores such as Star Wars, and it has been recorded at least 80 times. People always ask where Pluto is, and the answer is that it was discovered in 1930, after I had finished. Long after my time, Colin Matthews wrote Pluto, the Renewer on commission from the Hallé Orchestra. It was first played in Manchester in May 2000 under Kent Nagano, so the family of planets finally gained an eighth member.
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I hope you enjoyed learning about the backstory of The Planets with me. Did you find it as interesting to read as I found it to live through? Looking back, it still amazes me that a holiday conversation about astrology in 1913 grew into seven pieces for a very large orchestra. I never expected the suite to travel as far as it has, and I'm still a little surprised that people want to hear it at all. There is much more to discover about The Planets, from the way each movement is built to the sounds of individual instruments. If you'd like to keep exploring, please click on the links on this page and see where they take you. I'd be glad to have you along, and I hope the music stays with you long after the last quiet chord has faded.