Jul 14, 2026 · 8 min · 8 segments
Dublin, 13 April 1742. Buster walks into a packed music hall on Fishamble Street to hear something nobody alive today has ever heard: Handel's Messiah, brand new. This time the trip is no accident…
He steps out of the tent into a laneway off Christchurch, and for once, he knows exactly where he is, when he is, and why he's come.
A pilgrimage.
A proper one, and it's a pilgrimage through a real city.
That's what I love about this episode.
Which he tours initially wearing his navy shirt and jeans.
[laughs] Looking like a man who has taken a very wrong turn on the way to a wine bar.
[laughs] So walk us through it.
He sorts out lodgings in a Dutch-styled house near Skinner's Row, and the city around him is already humming.
There's a new piece by Handel debuting at the new music hall, and it is the only thing anyone is talking about.
Buster's problem isn't working out what's happening, it's getting himself into the room.
And this is where his old life earns its keep.
Entertainment lawyer.
Blagging his way into a hot premiere is genuinely the one skill from Santa Monica that transfers perfectly to 1742.
And the meeting itself, because Handel's first line to him is not what you'd expect from a portrait in a concert hall.
No. Buster walks in mid-rehearsal, says, "You must be Handel," and Handel turns around and says, and I quote, "I am Handel.
Who the fuck are you?"
Which apparently is historically defensible?
Completely.
Handel was famous for his temper and his language.
He once threatened to throw a soprano out a window.
The man swore in about four languages.
He steps out of the tent into a laneway off Christchurch, and for once, he knows exactly where he is, when he is, and why he's come.
A pilgrimage.
A proper one, and it's a pilgrimage through a real city.
That's what I love about this episode.
Which he tours initially wearing his navy shirt and jeans.
[laughs] Looking like a man who has taken a very wrong turn on the way to a wine bar.
[laughs] So walk us through it.
He sorts out lodgings in a Dutch-styled house near Skinner's Row, and the city around him is already humming.
There's a new piece by Handel debuting at the new music hall, and it is the only thing anyone is talking about.
Buster's problem isn't working out what's happening, it's getting himself into the room.
And this is where his old life earns its keep.
Entertainment lawyer.
Blagging his way into a hot premiere is genuinely the one skill from Santa Monica that transfers perfectly to 1742.
And the meeting itself, because Handel's first line to him is not what you'd expect from a portrait in a concert hall.
No. Buster walks in mid-rehearsal, says, "You must be Handel," and Handel turns around and says, and I quote, "I am Handel.
Who the fuck are you?"
Which apparently is historically defensible?
Completely.
Handel was famous for his temper and his language.
He once threatened to throw a soprano out a window.
The man swore in about four languages.
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