Kusser’s Theatrical Overtures: A Glimpse into the Franco-German Baroque Crossroads
Johann Sigismund Kusser—who Gallicized his name to Cousser when it suited his purposes—occupies one of those curious positions in music history where ambition outstripped genius, though not by so wide a margin as to render the music uninteresting. Born in Bratislava in 1660, he studied with Lully (or so he claimed, and the claim seems plausible enough), absorbed the French manner like blotting paper, and spent much of his peripatetic career trying to transplant the glories of Versailles to the less receptive soil of German courts. These six Ouvertures de théâtre from 1682 represent him at twenty-two, already a master of imitation if not quite of invention.
The French overture as Lully codified it—that grave opening with its dotted rhythms and hieratic tread, followed by a fugal "allegro" and then a suite of dances—was the most exportable musical commodity of the late seventeenth century. Kusser understood the formula perfectly. What he couldn’t quite capture was the ineffable quality that makes Lully’s best overtures feel inevitable rather than merely well-constructed. Listen to the opening of the Overture No. 1 in A minor: the gestures are all correct, the harmonic progressions proper, but there’s a certain pedagogical quality to it, as if we’re hearing a very accomplished student’s work rather than the master’s own hand.
That said, these pieces have considerable charm. The dance movements—bourées, gigues, minuets, gavottes, though frustratingly unindexed here—often achieve a genuine grace. The Overture No. 2 in B-flat contains a particularly fetching gavotte (or is it the second one? the lack of proper track indexing makes precision difficult) where Kusser’s melodic gift shows itself to real advantage. And there are moments, particularly in the Overture No. 5 in F, where the contrapuntal writing in the fugal sections displays genuine ingenuity.
Peter Zajicek and his forces from Musica Aeterna and Les Menus Plaisirs give us period-instrument performances that are entirely respectable without being revelatory. The string sound is appropriately lean, the articulation clean, the ornamentation tasteful if somewhat cautious. But I wanted more dynamic contrast, more rhetorical point-making, more of that French swagger that Kusser was trying so hard to emulate. The harpsichord continuo, as the original reviewer notes, sits too far back in the mix—a puzzling choice in music where the continuo provides not just harmonic foundation but rhythmic drive and textural color.
The acoustic is pleasant enough, though it lends everything a certain sameness of affect. Court music, yes, but which court? The rather undifferentiated resonance doesn’t help distinguish between the ceremonial grandeur that should characterize the opening movements and the more intimate character appropriate to some of the dance movements.
The presentation is another matter entirely. The booklet notes are laid out in a manner that seems designed to frustrate consultation—light typeface, unconventional organization, and the sort of trilingual format that makes you hunt for information rather than finding it readily. We learn biographical facts (though the death date is given as both 1724 and 1727, depending on where you look) but get virtually nothing about the specific pieces we’re hearing. For a release from a foundation with Paribas money behind it, this seems penny-wise and pound-foolish.
As a historical document, this recording has value. Kusser represents an important moment in the internationalization of Baroque style, that “Second Baroque” period around 1670 when national boundaries became more porous and composers deliberately cultivated cosmopolitan idioms. But as music to return to repeatedly? I’m less convinced. These overtures are well-crafted without being essential, attractive without being compelling. They illuminate a corner of musical history without quite justifying their own resurrection on purely aesthetic grounds.
The release is competent, the music interesting as period artifact and occasionally delightful on its own terms. But Kusser wasn’t Bach, wasn’t even Telemann, and seventy-seven minutes of his theatrical overtures—however historically notable—asks more patience than most listeners will want to extend.
