Description:
Press release:

'Remember, See you here Sunday 17th of December, 6.30 pm. You will know you have the right place when you meet the old man Jing with his guitar...tell him 'you are looking for someone' tell nobody else. He knows a thing or two about the strange happenings of the Shadwell Stair. 

The party is private,
slip in to 54 Hollywell Lane - EC1 (Old Street Tube) and discover, and uncover our secrets... the Strangeworks' licentious poisoned well of shadows the U'luvka den of eniquity. Ponder your route into the hollows of the night, beware of who you may meet for the place is inhabited from times before, A poem in between people and hand to mouth can conjure thoughts of deception and whip your spirit fourth into debauchery and voyeurism with Scottee, Marianne Cheesecake and the Lord Pigs. The Irrepressibles penetrate the room as their landmark sound installation performance artists resonate, reverberate, sing and booms for Adrian Palka and his Steel Cello/Performance, Wolfram Der Spyra the Sound artist and Greg Miller the Sonic sculptor...who is the ghost now?  Rise up with Heidi Heelz, The High Fives and Shorty as we celebrate the beginning and the end... '

 

Latest party

 

A site specific work inspired by Wilfred Owen's poem. The Ghost of Shadwell Stair

 

Yoni collects and curates the beautiful, the weird and most hauntingly memorable of London's underground progressive, unsigned talent. Performance art, theatre, visuals and music co-exist as fully interactive, cohesive and theatrical entertainment. 

More details: The preparations began at a secret location in Shorditch: See the pictures. 

http://www.theyonigroup.com/ 

http://www.myspace.com/theamazingonenightstand 

info@theyonigroup.com 

Sunday 17th of December, 6.30 pm. 
54 Hollywell Lane - EC1 (Old Street Tube) 
Call if you wander too far 07775 638 752.

 

The Ghost of Shadwell Stair

I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair.
Along the wharves by the water-house,
And through the cavernous slaughter-house,
I am the shadow that walks there.

Yet I have flesh both firm and cool,
And eyes tumultuous as the gems
Of moons and lamps in the full Thames
When dusk sails wavering down the pool.

Shuddering the purple street-arc burns
Where I watch always; from the banks
Dolorously the shipping clanks
And after me a strange tide turns.

I walk till the stars of London wane
And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair.
But when the crowing syrens blare
I with another ghost am lain.

 Wilfred Owen