This might shock you, but I used to not like the Planets. Iād first heard it years ago, back in high school, and felt cold to it. I also thought it was too long. I tried listening to it a few more times over the years and it never clicked with me. So I shrugged it off as someĀ āoverratedā music, maybe itās only popular because of the program, or because of intro to music appreciation, or because of band students. Yesterday I was driving to work, and the Planets was playing on Sirius classical radio. I rolled my eyes and changed to my cityās classical station, but they were playing some Baroque concerto I wasnāt in the mood for, so I stuck around with the planets for the ten minute drive. I was taken in by the hypnotic and dream-like orchestration, and then colorful, fun music. So I admit I was wrong, the Planets is a great work for orchestra, and funny enough it is one of those pieces that the composer didnāt like. Holst grew to resent the Planets for taking so much attention from his other music. He was inspired by astrology, and had fun telling friendās fortunes by palm reading and by the alignment of the planets. He was interested in the idea of the planets having an effect on the human psyche. Around that time he attended the English premiere of Schoenbergās 5 Pieces for Orchestra, op. 16, and he bought a copy of the score. These inspirations came together and he wroteĀ āSeven Pieces for Orchestraā based off of the astrological planets [excluding the sun and moon, and including Uranus and Neptune]. The suite has two points of focus; the first is Earth, so the order goes in the planets closest to Earth first. The second is Jupiter, which is in the middle of the suite, and acts as a mirror [for example, the suite opens loud and ends softly, Venus is serene while Uranus is vulgar, Mercury is a fun scherzo while Saturn is brooding]. It opens with Mars, an unrelenting war march with an ostinato building in intensity under brass fanfare. This dramatic writing will be the most obvious inspiration for later sci-fi film and tv soundtracks, especially John Williamsā iconic work for Star Wars. Venus is a stark contrast, opening with a calm solo horn, pentatonic winds, almostĀ āpastoraleā [if the pasture were crushed under the pressure of carbon dioxide and sulfuric acid]. After a wind chorale, the strings come in overhead, playing a gorgeous though angular melody. The work is also decorated with celesta chimes. Mercury is a quick scherzo, bouncing around with fluttering melodies overhead. The use of the triangle makes me think of servants in an English manor home being called. The middle section has aĀ āgrandā chorale elaboration of the theme. Jupiter is probably the most famous moment of the suite, opening with a three-note motif repeated in the strings, racing over each other as the brass introduces the grand melody. This has a great feeling of anĀ āexpandingā organic entity of sound. Timpani, brass, strings, winds, the entire orchestra blasts off with fun. The three-note theme is repeated over different modulations, then becomes the subject of what feels like a pub-song melody. After a breather, we get a new theme, a dignified and regal āchoraleā. Then we bring back the energy of the opening, and the climax feels like a distortion of time as the main themes overlap, and we end on an exclamation of the three notes. Saturn was Holstās personal favorite movement. Another stark contrast, it opens with a very quiet ostinato, like the ticking of a clock, but dull. That becomes the base for a slow build up to a crushing large climax, awe at the expanse of time itself, thinking that we are only a blip of eternity. After the echoes of the bells and the universal clock drift away, we get the gorgeous hypnotic passage I mentioned earlier, beautiful wind and string writing over soft organ droning, now seeing the beauty in this magnificence of being present in the moment of eternity. Uranus is described as aĀ āvulgar magicianā, so we get a lot of whimsical fun, shades of Dukasā sorcerer, and we get a lot of orchestral color with modal writing, a lot of sonicĀ āfireā and sparks. Especially the theatrical organ glisando, and the silly use of the xylophone. Finally, we get the most haunting planet, Neptune. The farthest from the sun, astronomers say that the sun looks like a bright star from this distance. Mysterious, cold, eerie. That is the music here, in unusual keys. Halfway through, we hear the moaning of a wordless choir of women, hidden off stage. They sing through, until the music drifts away [itās instructed to slowly close the door]. This was the first majorĀ āfade awayā in music history, and Holstās daughter Imogen recalls that the effect was so ethereal, you couldnāt tell the difference between the music and silence. This is probably my favorite movement of the suite for its haunting atmosphere, and the disturbing feeling of not knowing what rests beyond.Ā