Antonio Pappano and the LSO perform Holst's The Planets

When I spoke to Antonio Pappano back in 2024 as he began his tenure at the helm of the London Symphony Orchestra, he was keen to stress his commitment to exploring English music with the orchestra. The main thrust of this has been their ongoing cycle of Vaughan Williams symphonies, but for their latest release they have turned to one of the most enduringly popular cornerstones of the English symphonic repertoire, namely Holst’s The Planets. 

It takes about two seconds to notice that this is a performance full of vivid detail. The first part of 'Mars' requires the strings to play col legno (i.e. with the wood of the bow rather than the hair): controlling the bounce of the bow is fine once the movement is up and running, but it’s actually moderately awkward to achieve a faultless rhythmic unison from a standing start. There have been several high-profile recordings where it takes a moment or two to settle down, but there are no such issues here, with the LSO strings crisp and precise from bar one.

It's fascinating how Pappano paces 'Mars' in terms of its dramatic build-up – he doesn't just ask the orchestra to belt everything at full tilt (for instance, the tenor tuba exhortation a couple of minutes into the movement isn't quite as stentorian as one often hears it). What this means is that when the brass are allowed off the leash, the impact is all the more telling, with powerful trumpets (accompanied by side drum and timpani) blasting out the main rhythm after the slower central section in a startling manner.

This attention to pacing pays dividends also in the “big tune” in 'Jupiter' (which Holst would subsequently refashion into the stirring hymn, "I Vow to Thee, My Country"), where Pappano and the orchestra heighten the emotion by not spending it all at once (some potent timpani add gloriously to the spine-tingling effect here). Similarly, the build-up during 'Saturn' is expertly done, where inscrutable woodwind give rise to robust trumpets and bells.

As compelling as these moments are, where this reading scores equally highly is in the quieter, mysterious passages, especially the gliding, ethereal strings at the end of 'Saturn' and also throughout 'Neptune', where magical flutes, harps, and celeste give way to beautifully floating, enigmatic contributions from the off-stage upper voices of Tenebrae. The final bars, where those voices gently fade away into the infinite expanse of space, is enchantingly realised. All of these different characters are captured most colourfully, with Pappano and the orchestra switching effortlessly between the luscious radiance of 'Venus' (featuring exquisite solos from horn, oboe and cello) and the playful impishness of 'Uranus' (aided enormously by satisfyingly mischievous tubas). 

It's a testament to how well recorded this performance is that one of its most pleasing qualities is Pappano's evident ear for balancing harmonies and textures, notably the horn chords moving in parallel motion in 'Mars', or the finer details in 'Mercury', where you can easily hear the intricacies of Holst's woodwind writing as well as aspects such as the glockenspiel's rhythm, which can sometimes turn into a wash of sound but which here is clear and distinct without sounding over-mannered. (In the interests of full disclosure, it's still a bit tricky to discern the organ glissando at the climax of 'Uranus', but then that's also true for a lot of other recordings...)

Holst did not include an 'Earth' movement, but one is tempted to think that if he had it might have turned out something like Arnold Bax’s symphonic poem, Tintagel, inspired by a visit the composer had made to the Cornish castle in 1917. Often sounding like a cross between The Planets and Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde with a dollop of Richard Strauss’s Alpine Symphony thrown in for good measure, it’s a marvellous piece that suits the LSO perfectly: there’s a particular phrase in the first ninety seconds or so that seems tailor-made for the sublime tone of the orchestra’s horns, whilst the ravishing sheen of the strings is a joy to behold. 

Bax's orchestration is very thick, but again Pappano's sense of balance enables him to cut through the undergrowth and reveal the work’s luminous foundation, and his care over the pacing is such that the dense middle section never feels like it is meandering, leading inexorably to its majestic conclusion. It serves as an ideal companion to a remarkably characterful account of Holst’s great suite