It’s the most famous piece of British classical music ever written. You know the one. That driving, five-beat mechanical thud of Mars, the Bringer of War. It sounds like the birth of every sci-fi movie ever made. But if you think Gustav Holst and the Planets is a collection of songs about space, you’re kinda missing the point.
Holst didn't care about astronomy.
Seriously. He wasn’t looking through a telescope or dreaming about NASA. To Holst, the planets weren't big rocks floating in a vacuum; they were psychological profiles. He called astrology his "pet vice." He’d spend his weekends casting horoscopes for friends just for the fun of it. When he sat down to write this massive suite between 1914 and 1917, he was trying to capture "mood pictures" of the human psyche.
Why Earth is Missing and Pluto Was Ignored
People always ask: "Where’s Earth?"
The answer is simple: you don't have a horoscope for Earth because you're standing on it. Since the suite is based on astrological influence, Earth has no "character" to speak of in that system. It’s the observer, not the influence.
Then there’s the Pluto drama.
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Pluto was discovered in 1930, while Holst was still very much alive. Fans and astronomers practically begged him to write a "Pluto" movement to complete the set. He flat-out refused. Honestly, by that point, he hated how famous the suite had become. He felt it overshadowed everything else he wrote—his choral music, his Sanskrit-inspired works, his operas. He viewed the success of The Planets as a bit of a curse.
He once wrote to a friend, "Woe to you when all men speak well of you." He wasn't being dramatic; he genuinely felt like a one-hit wonder, even though he was incredibly prolific.
The Sound of War and Jollity
Let’s talk about Mars. Most people assume it was a reaction to the horrors of World War I. It makes sense, right? It sounds like tanks and machine guns. Except, Holst finished the sketches for Mars before the war even started.
He wasn't describing a specific battle. He was describing the concept of violence. The rhythm is in $5/4$ time, which feels "wrong" to our ears because it never quite settles into a comfortable walking pace. It’s unstable. It’s relentless.
Then you have Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity.
It’s the "big hit."
The central melody is so beautiful that they later slapped some patriotic lyrics on it to create the hymn "I Vow to Thee, My Country."
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Funny enough, Holst kind of hated that too. He thought the melody was meant to represent "ceremonial rejoicing," not necessarily flag-waving nationalism. But that’s the thing about art; once you put it out there, you don't get to decide what it means to people anymore.
The Secret "Favorite" Movement
If you ask a casual listener, they’ll pick Mars or Jupiter. If you asked Holst, he’d pick Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age.
It’s slow. It’s heavy. It starts with this ticking, syncopated rhythm that feels like a clock you can't stop. It depicts physical decay, but it ends in this weirdly peaceful, resigned serenity. Holst had health issues his whole life—bad eyes, asthma, and a right arm so weak from neuritis that he often had to dictate his music to others. To him, Saturn wasn't a bummer; it was a "vision of fulfillment."
The "Imperial" Connection
You can't talk about Gustav Holst and the Planets without mentioning John Williams.
If you listen to the opening of Mars and then play the "Imperial March" from Star Wars, the DNA is unmistakable. It’s not just the rhythm; it’s the way the brass instruments "bark" at the listener. Williams has never really denied the influence. George Lucas actually used The Planets as a "temp track" while editing the first movie, which basically forced Williams to match that same energy.
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Hans Zimmer did the same thing with Gladiator. The estate of Gustav Holst actually sued over that one because the "Battle" theme in the movie sounded a bit too much like Mars.
How to Actually Listen to it Today
If you want to experience the suite the way it was intended, don't just put it on as background noise while you're doing chores. It’s too big for that.
- Use Headphones: The orchestration is massive. Holst uses things like a bass oboe, a celesta, and two sets of timpani. You'll miss the textures on tiny speakers.
- Wait for the Ending: The final movement, Neptune, the Mystic, does something wild for 1916. It uses a wordless female choir that is hidden off-stage. They have to sing quieter and quieter until the door to their room is slowly closed, making the sound fade into literal nothingness.
- Ignore the "Space" Visuals: Try to think about the "moods" instead. Think about Mercury as the speed of thought, or Uranus as a clumsy magician’s prank.
Take Action: Your Next Listening Session
Don't just take my word for it. Go to a streaming service and find a recording by the London Philharmonic or the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.
- Listen to Mars and try to count the $5/4$ beat (1-2, 1-2-3). It’s harder than it sounds.
- Compare Venus to Neptune. Both are "quiet," but one is peaceful and the other is eerie/detached. See if you can feel the difference.
- Read the titles as "Mood Pictures" rather than "Space Travels." It changes the whole vibe of the record.
The reality is that Gustav Holst and the Planets will outlive us all. It’s a perfect bridge between the old-school Romantic symphonies of the 1800s and the cinematic sounds of today. Whether you’re a fan of astrology or you just like big, loud trumpets, there’s a reason this thing is still a staple in every concert hall in the world.
To get the full experience, look for a live performance. There is something physically overwhelming about hearing 100 musicians hit those final chords in Mars that a recording just can't replicate.