GUSTAV HOLST (1874-1934)

SUITE: THE PLANETS

Most people are familiar, perhaps over familiar, with the Planets that we can have
forgotten the thrill and impact of coming to this work for the first time. Nowadays it is
part of the daily diet on Classic FM to have Mars for breakfast, Venus for elevenses
and Jupiter to cheer up the odd lorry driver on the M6. For many in the Matthew
Taylor Class that first acquaintance would have probably been back in the 1950s
when chauvinistically the only recognized conductors, Boult, Sargent and Barbirolli,
had to be English and that foreign conductors, particularly immigrants to America like
Stokowski, were thought of as off limits.
Gustav Holst, or von Holst to begin with, was of Latvian via Swedish descent, but
that is by the bye. He was born in Cheltenham and was as English as steak and
kidney pie, not that he would, as a practising vegetarian, have eaten it. After
education at Cheltenham Grammar School he entered the Royal College of Music
where he studied under Stanford and became a lifelong friend of fellow student
Ralph Vaughan-Williams. The two men developed a shared interest in exploring and
maintaining the English vocal and choral tradition as found primarily in folk song,
madrigals and church music. Because of a trembling hand he gave up the piano
and studied the trombone which he later played in the orchestra pit of the Carl Rosa
Opera company to earn his living. Much of his time was given to teaching. He was
for several years the music teacher at James Allen Girls School in Dulwich and later
at St Pauls Girls School in Hammersmith for which he wrote his delightful St Paul
Suite for Strings. He also became director of Music at Morley College, a position
which he held until his death. He was succeeded there by Michael Tippett.
He was possessed at different times of various, sometimes eccentric, fads. He
shared his vegetarianism and socialism with George Bernard Shaw and the latter
pursuit also with William Morris. He was an avid hiker and biker taking his biking
holidays as far off as Algeria and from whence came the inspiration for his brilliant
orchestral oriental suite, Beni Mora. His other somewhat individual pursuit was an
interest in Hindu mysticism and Sanskrit. He wrote operas based on these themes
and signed up for a course at the cost of 5 guineas at UCL to study Sanskrit in order
that he could translate the originals to write his libretti. Later in life he became
friendly with Thomas Hardy and he regarded Egdon Heath, a bleak composition, as
his greatest orchestral work. Holst was a lovable oddball whose statue in
Cheltenham shows him as a one off left handed conductor.
As a composer, Holst had a considerable output of some 200 works although only a
handful have found their way on to the CD shelves. He was a self-confessed
traditionalist but there is no doubt he was influenced by the barbaric rhythms of
Stravinkys Rite of Spring, the score of which he presumably studied as it was not
performed in England until 1922, and also of the chromaticisms of Schoenbergs
Five Orchestral Pieces which Henry J Wood was daring enough to introduce to the
Proms audience in 1911 and was hissed for his troubles.

At the onset of World War I, Holst tried to enlist but was rejected because of his bad
eyes, bad lungs and bad digestion. In wartime England, Holst was persuaded to drop
the "von" from his name, as it aroused suspicion. He changed his name by deed poll
in 1917. It was shortly before the war that he holidayed in Spain with the Bax
brothers, Arnold, (composer) and Clifford,(playwright). It was Clifford who came to
introduce Holst to astrology. From then on, Holst practised telling astrological
fortunes which he called his pet vice. It was therefore thanks to Clifford Bax that the
Planets came to be written. They were to be based on Holsts astrological view of
the character of the planets and not to be confused with the classical gods. There
are seven planets in all excluding Earth and also Pluto which had not yet then been
discovered
The Suite was in fact started before the war. Matthew Taylor, in his 1910-14 series,
played us a two piano score of Mars written by Holst to be played at St Pauls GS.
The complete work received its first performance at a private performance under
Boult in 1918 but the first public performance did not take place until 1920 under the
baton of Albert Coates. Little wonder that most people have erroneously perceived
Mars as a reflection of the carnage of the mechanised First World War. We do not
know what Holst saw in his minds eye but it would appear as if he was possessed of
one of the most prophetic of visions. Or could Holsts newly acquired interest in
stargazing have produced for him the fortune telling ability to which he laid claim?
1.
Mars The Bringer of War. The word that best describes the opening is
ominous. You know straight away that something is about to happen. The unusual
5/4 rhythm that underlines Holsts trombones is relentless, never changing, except
as to its speed. Quietly to start with, regular if uneven, it soon builds up to nearly the
whole orchestra hammering out the rhythm. This is followed by brass from horns to
tubas and trumpets chasing each other with martial calls. Eventually it all collapses
on itself and a middle section continues at about a quarter of the original speed like
some awakening giant trying to rouse itself. This leads to the whole orchestra
hammering away again with greater insistence until a discordant climax is hammered
out. There cannot be life beyond this.
2.
Venus - The Bringer of Peace. (Not the Goddess of Love!). The contrast with
Mars could not be greater. Holst had become influenced by Ravel through V-W but
the sound here is impressionistic, more Debussy influenced. This is a movement of
tranquillity underscored not by melodies as by chords, not accompanying but with a
life of their own, simply hanging in their own space.
3.
Mercury The Winged Messenger. Yet another contrast. From the
languorous pace of Venus we have a fleet footed Mercury, lightly scored, scurrying
round the orchestra from winds to strings. There develops a tune in the strings that
has a slight folksy feel for a short time before the movement scampers into thin air.
4.
Jupiter The Bringer of Jollity. This is somewhat uneven. The humour is
rumbustious evoking a Falstaffian feel. Here Holst is somewhat heavy handed in his
orchestration. The second part becomes a round where the dance is stamped out
faster and louder and once too often perhaps. We then reach the middle section
which has nothing much to do with jollity. It is very British, very hymn like which is
why it became to be recast as I Vow to Thee, My Country, redolent of morning

assembly at most British public schools. The jovial mood is then recapitulated and
the two briefly entwine in a final national peroration. Popular it may be, but not Holst
at his best.
5.
Saturn The Bringer of Old Age. This movement is tighter knit altogether.
Old age drags itself wearily on woods and harps with basses dragging their feet
below. Here the feel is distinctly Sibelian. Did Vaughan Williams have this section in
mind when he depicted the Beardmore Glacier in his Sinfonia Antarctica? The music
builds to a mighty climax re-enforced by the organ. This is old age containing
enormous reserves of energy. As it sinks back the organ comes in and there follows
a sublime luxuriant finale undoubtedly influenced in its orchestration by Daybreak
from Ravels Daphnis & Chloe.
6.
Uranus The Magician. If the Planets were a seven movement symphony,
Uranus would be the scherzo. This note would not be the first to draw a similarity to
Dukass Sorcerers Apprentice although it is unlikely that Holst had heard it. The
music is jokey with a prominent part for the tuba. Another mighty climax is followed
from an unbelievable fffff to pppp. The change is so swift and sudden that Malcolm
Sargent related a tale, probably apocryphal, of two women in the audience talking to
each other above the din and as it cut off precipitately into near silence one heard
distinctly the words Oh I always cook mine in fat.
7.
Neptune - The Mystic. The music is scored with seven beats to the bar. It is
quiet, and shapeless like some void in space. Like gas clouds it contains no
climaxes, no noises. Ultimately from offstage a chorus of womens voices
intermingles high up in the orchestra adding a further mysterious layer. Debussy
had used a wordless womens chorus in Sirnes, the third of his orchestral
Nocturnes but this is different. This is a sound that is ethereal and which becomes
lost within the orchestra. It eventually fades into nothing, an effect obtained by
slowly closing the door of the off stage room. Again one asks whether V-W was
conscious of the similarities between this and the finale of his sixth symphony?
The Planets is a great work despite it being uneven. Like Ravels Bolero it suffers
from over recording and broadcast and is probably, like Bolero, best appreciated in
the concert hall where even the coughing cant always be heard!