PARIS JAMES: ROOTS THAT RUN DEEP It's what moves you. Joy, sadness, anger, lust and pain. When Paris James runs his brass slide along the guitar strings and starts to moan, there is an unmistakable movement in the room. People feel where Paris is coming from. His blues brings all of your emotions back to the surface, and he does it with a warmth you just can't deny. Because Paris James' music is as real as it gets. There's depth here that you can't achieve from listening to old recordings, reading magazine articles on the blues or checking out concert appearances by the greats still with us. It doesn't come to you that way. Paris doesn't just sing about Hellhounds, he feels them hot on his heals. Paris James' roots run deep. While his maternal grandfather, Reverand Frank Cubby, ran the largest black Baptist church in Georgia, Paris' paternal grandfather ran bootleg whiskey through backwoods Florida. One man shepherding souls toward the light, the other creeping through the shadows. These two very disparate existences collided in Paris' parents, both God-fearing, gospel-singing souls destined to produce a genuinely talented son born inside a southern church. But it was while growing up in Phoenix, AZ, though, that Paris was exposed to a lot of serious blues. On the west side of town, he'd hang around the old storefronts with their outdoor speakers. Lincoln Liquors, among others, blasting the likes of Muddy Waters and T-Bone Walker down Buckeye Road. And later, when the preachers set up revival tents directly across the street, Paris had the best of both musical worlds. For Paris, this audio street fight just added fuel to the fire smoldering within. So do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of Paris James' debut cd. Decide on your own if he isn't all this and more. Groove to the things that move you. Let the music bring all your emotions back to the surface as Paris' blues rocks you, shakes you and makes you feel alive again. His music will change you... because Paris IS the real thing.