Day 13: July 20, 2025 - A song-by-song breakdown of my favorite classical suite (Gustav Holst's "The Planets" review)
I’ve always felt that classical music is arguably one of the most evocative genres in all of music. The ability to imbue such profound emotion into melodies of old has forever held my attention, leaving me transfixed as to how I could feel so strongly about a moment that was spoken without words.
What is so beautiful about classical music to me is that, while produced for the masses, the reaction is uniquely individual to the listener. The genre is perhaps atypical to other categories simply because one’s interpretation is based almost entirely on personal perceptions. It’s what makes one person adore Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons” concerto, while another may think it’s a total snoozefest.
Of all the classical music I listen to, whether it be studying to “Across the Stars” from Star Wars or furiously writing an essay to Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” I will forever and always have a soft spot for English composer Gustav Holst’s “The Planets.” Comprised of seven uniquely different movements, Holst crafted this classical masterpiece after friend Clifford Bax introduced the then-38-year-old to the field of astrology while on a trip to Spain. The composer would then go on to intertwine his newfound interest in astrology with his refined musical skills in creating “The Planets,” writing a movement for “the personalities” of each planet: The hostility of “Mars,” the cheerfulness of “Jupiter,” and so on and so forth.
To appreciate the beauty of each of the seven arrangements, I’ll be discussing my thoughts on the pieces individually and giving them a rating. I’ll be using the 1981 performance of Holst’s suite by Berliner Philharmoniker, conducted by Austrian composer Herbert von Karajan.
The Planets, Op. 32: I. Mars, the Bringer of War
What’s unique about “Mars,” and “The Planets” as a whole, is that Holst connects the name of the arrangements to the Roman gods that inspired the pieces. Each of the compositions themselves are representations of not only the planets they represent, but the gods that played a major part in their namesakes.
The first of seven arrangements does this beautifully: Mars, the god of war, is known for his role in battle and conflict throughout much of Roman history. Starting with a host of strings at a borderline pianissimo sound, the sound slowly but surely crescendos into a more intense rhythm with the help of clarinets in the ensemble. This moment feels as if you’re a soldier, looking at your enemy as they crest over the hill that you so valiantly face.
The might of that opposing army is only fully realized as powerful brass begin to infiltrate the strings section of “Mars.” Trumpets lead the charge, unified in creating a nauseating sound that is rooted in deep intensity. The sprawling trumpet section utilized in the Berliner Philharmoniker performance continues to take shape as the piece progresses, reaching what I think is the best moment at just around four-and-a-half minutes into the piece. Reaching back to the metaphor of war, trombones and tubas serve as a “Charge!” of sorts, as the entirety of the brass section sound as if they are steeped in bloody battle.
The song ends with a strings section crying out in danger before being stomped on by the might of the all-powerful brass. Electing to start out the concerto with “Mars” was a genius move: its bite, raw power, and sheer volume is enough to get listeners excited for what’s to come next. Giving anything less than 4.8 stars out of 5 is blasphemy.
The Planets, Op. 32: II. Venus, the Bringer of Peace
Venus is the Roman comparison to Aphrodite of Greek mythology, both goddesses holding dominion over love, beauty, desire, and in some interpretations fertility. Her reputation as the “bringer of peace” in this song serves as a direct contradiction to the suite’s first song, “Mars.”
I visualize “Venus” as the aftermath of the conflict audiences were greeted to in “Mars.” I imagine Venus hovering down to the battlefield, looking at the mass casualties sprawled out before her, and her emotions being too much to handle for one single person. Such loss and devastation are practically impossible to bear for Venus, as she scrambles to find meaning in such chaos.
Her journey to find that meaning is portrayed by an almost angelic section of flutes, oboes, and horns, the trio of instruments taking the lead on this song. The melodies are light and airy but still yield a profound amount of emotion in them, as flutes often sound as if they are weeping alongside the Roman goddess. Many of the melodies are also high on the register, washing the piece over in a glow of peace and tranquility throughout its eight-and-a-half minutes.
“Venus” is the third-longest arrangement of “The Planets,” and for good reason. Giving listeners the opportunity to emotionally respond to the weightiness of “Mars” was a smart move from Holst, and with the support of violins throughout, the piece is gorgeous. 4.5 out of 5 stars.
The Planets, Op. 32: III. Mercury, the Winged Messenger
Mercury (Hermes in Greek mythos) is the god of commerce, communication, and travel who is oftentimes depicted with winged sandals. As “the winged messenger” in this song, Mercury is seemingly transporting some exciting news to an awaiting individual in the cosmos. While it’s unsure who that may be (spoiler – the next arrangement reveals who), it’s evident that Mercury is delivering with a smile on his face.
Bouncy violins and a brilliant use of a glockenspiel are used on “Mercury.” The glockenspiel makes audiences feel as if they are perfectly visualizing every flap of Mercury’s wings as he transports the good word. I also love the strings melody involved in this piece, as it promises to be stuck in the listener’s head once the song concludes.
The swelling of the strings at multiple moments throughout this arrangement makes this piece one of Holst’s most intriguing. I love how he incorporated new instrumentation in “Mercury,” giving rather underutilized elements (such as the celesta) a chance to shine through. The piece is gorgeous – I just wish it was a tad bit more developed, as the arrangement enters in at a mere four-and-a-half minutes. Still, 4.6 out of 5 stars.
The Planets, Op. 32: IV. Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity
Jupiter’s Greek counterpart is Zeus. If that doesn’t give audiences at least an idea of what to expect with “Jupiter,” then they may need to brush up on their mythology.
As the “god of gods” in the Roman scene, Jupiter serves as the sky’s protector by wielding his trusty lightning bolt to ward off any unseemly enemies. In the arrangement that shares his namesake, a gorgeous ensemble of trombones, trumpets, piccolos, flutes, violins, horns, glockenspiels and so much more come together for an audial celebration of the god’s rulership of Roman mythology.
Holst’s arrangement starts with a punch: Right as the song begins, a flurry of giddy violins flood the once-quiet space, rampant with energy and vibrancy. Soon thereafter, a host of trombones interject, echoing their praises of the Roman king alongside several horns and trumpets, creating a medley that feels like a party beginning to liven. I adore how Holst has crafted each instrument to have their own voice throughout this song – listeners can truly equate the sound of each part of the ensemble with a specific emotion.
Easily the knockout portion of this arrangement comes around the three-minute mark. After a mature-sounding tubs echoes what could be interpreted as Jupiter’s entrance into the party, a sweeping violin sound then serves as Jupiter’s acknowledgment to his guests. This melody is superb. Wide brushstrokes of violin are painted for the listener, a sound that can only be fully appreciated with a band of the Berlin Philharmoniker’s size. The melody is profound, emotional and downright epic in size and sound. The twinkling piccolo right after escorts listeners into yet another thrilling brass breakdown, all en route to a finale that will always leave me breathless after I listen. “Jupiter” earns the easiest five stars in the history of five-star ratings.
The Planets, Op. 32: V. Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age
Saturn serves Roman mythology as the god of agriculture, wealth, and time. Holst decides to use the third of his three dominions in the fifth arrangement on “The Planets,” sparking a conversation about the passing of time and how it changes even those who are immortal through its nearly ten minutes.
Holst yet again proves why order of arrangements matters with “Saturn.” The piece is solemn, mournful of a life once lived, contradictory to the celebration of life that was “Jupiter.” Brass is favored heavily in this arrangement, giving the song a similar weightiness to that of “Mars” sans violence and destruction. “Mars” is a piece representing the destruction of many; “Saturn” is the destruction of the individual.
Many of the melodies on “Saturn” are played at ranging dynamics. The beginning and middle sections of the piece offer listeners descriptive piano (a quiet sound), while other areas elect to play in mezzo-forte (“medium loud”) style. This explicit range of dynamics is brilliant when comparing it to the metaphor of life: Some moments will be more reflective and need quiet, while some moments require celebration and desire noise.
“Saturn” feels like the final bow to a life full of human moments. I say human in this context because, famously, the gods are immortal beings; Yet this song feels like it almost yearns for the idea of a human experience. This idea is further reinforced with the knowledge that Saturn was normally depicted as an older man who was adorned with a long gray beard and carried a scythe. This introspective arrangement is worthy of 4.7 out of 5 stars.
The Planets, Op. 32: VI. Uranus, the Magician
Of all the arrangements on “The Planets,” “Uranus” is perhaps the etude that sounds the most inconsistently structured. This is done on purpose, however.
In Roman mythology, Uranus serves as symbolism for innovation, magic, and boundless creativity. These ideas are expressed quite well in Holst’s sixth arrangement. Arriving right after the reflective “Saturn,” “Uranus” utilizes a combination of playful instruments, relying heavily on a xylophone and various brass in the beginning melodies. Soon after, the piece reaches a climax of sorts, allowing almost all contributing members of the ensemble to play a healthy forte (“loud”) dynamic.
I personally interpret this arrangement in two ways. Firstly, I imagine the music was written to embody the feeling of watching a magician perform their tricks. The bounciness of melodies throughout makes me visualize a jester jumping through hoops and playing with fire while an aghast crowd watches the performance. I imagine this is what Holst was aiming to achieve by describing Uranus as a magician in the title of the piece, which makes this conclusion one that seems the most feasible. However, I also feel as if the placement of “Uranus” directly after “Saturn” suggests a re-awakening of mind and spirit. If Saturn is describing the death of an older individual, what’s to say “Uranus” is not a reincarnation of that same spirit, without limits of age or reality? Perhaps Holst is utilizing another contradiction in his music, the same way he did with “Mars” and “Venus” and “Jupiter” and “Saturn.” Yet, I like to think there’s more to the story here. 4.3 out of 5 stars.
The Planets, Op. 32: VII. Neptune, the Mystic
The final arrangement of Holst’s legendary suite, “Neptune” is just as its title suggests: Mystical.
Neptune served the Roman gods and goddesses as the god of freshwater, sea, and horses (Poseidon is his Greek counterpart). The planet that owns his namesake has similar references to the god, its blue exterior existing farthest away from the sun in the Milky Way Galaxy.
I’m of the opinion that Holst crafted Neptune with the knowledge of the planetary order in mind (after all, the suite is in order of planets shortest to farthest from the sun). I say this because this piece sounds distant. The instrumentation is marvelously crafted in a way that feels non-conforming, like an astronaut untethered and floating in space. Moreover, the piece is played almost entirely in soft dynamics, allowing audiences to enter a state of unfiltered wonder and awe throughout nearly nine minutes.
Creating a world of specific emotion, as has been done through the past six arrangements, is what Holst excels at - “Neptune” is no different. The piece is thoughtful, “trippy,” scary at times, hopeful, and perhaps the most unique send-off Holst could have crafted to “The Planets.” I feel like I’m grasping for something that does not exist when I listen to this piece. I can only imagine what it may sound like live. 5 out of 5 stars.
Holst’s “The Planets” is widely considered to be one of the English composer’s best, and for good reason. Its world-building tendencies on each song invite audiences to enjoy an experience unlike any other, and the entire suite is easily a star (space joke!) amongst the classical music genre. The pieces, while ranked differently when analyzed individually, deserve 4.9 out of 5 stars together.