Perhaps Gustav Holst (1874-1934) was anticipating the controversy that would surround Pluto when he wrote his seven-movement suite entitled "The Planets." Though Pluto was discovered in 1930, Holst never updated his composition, leaving the suite with its original seven movements (Earth is not represented, either). Perhaps Holst desired to maintain the balance of seven, a number traditionally associated with perfection. But because Pluto's status as a planet has recently been questioned in the science world, Holst may have just had a little foresight after all.
Each of the movements represents a specific planet, or rather, each movement embodies the characteristics of the Roman deity for whom each planet is named, beginning with Mars (and war) and ending with Neptune (and mysticism). It was originally written for piano and organ, but a full orchestra does much more justice to the dramatic nature of the work. Holst's orchestral version is the one most people will hear today.
Gustav Holst was an English composer with music in his family tree: he was the son of an organist and would go on to be the father of another composer/conductor, Imogen Holst. While attending the Royal College of Music in London, he became good friends with another English composer, Ralph Vaughn Williams. Though The Planets was not Holst's favorite piece of music, it has become his most well-known work.
The movements progress as follows:
Mars, the Bringer of War: tumultuous use of timpani, in imitation of both military drumming and the crash of war itself.
Venus, the Bringer of Peace: a much more lyrical movement, featuring lush winds and strings.
Mercury, the Winged Messenger: slightly more comical, with "fluttering" in the plucked strings and the bassoon and full of impish energy.
Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity: To me, this name is a misnomer. Jupiter was the king of the Roman gods and as such his music resembles the bustle and pomp of a regal procession. When the Jupiter theme finally appears, the crowd hushes in awe as he passes by. Festivities then resume in all their royal splendor. The Jupiter theme was later adopted as a patriotic hymn tune, and is perhaps the most recognizable moment in the suite.
Saturn, the Bringer of Old Age: if Saturn is the herald of decline (and by association, death), then the grim reaper creeps in quietly but relentlessly.
Uranus, the Magician: the use of dotted rhythms and open-ended melody lines creates a frantic restlessness that reminds the listener of earlier magician characterizations in classical music: Berlioz' "Witches Sabbath," the final movement in his Symphonie Fantastique, and Dukas' symphonic poem, The Sorcerer's Apprentice.
Nepture, the Mystic: Holst exploits the upper registers of the strings and winds, in fluttering, ethereal shimmers of sound.
A suite that began with the thundering of drums simply floats off into the expanse of space.
