Remembering Stepa J. Groggs’ Reserves for Injury with Five Key Verses

Many songs from the Arizona trio in Arizona Injury Reserve are anchored by a contemplative verse, sometimes even erased, by Stepa J. Groggs. His frank and direct style and his traditionalist boast had an impact on his rhymes, but he was also constantly looking at moments in his past and present, hoping to make sense of the damage he had caused. Even with this pressure, his raps were often fun and hoped that taking it day-to-day would provide answers. His story was cut short before he had a chance to find his resolution: the rapper, born Jordan Alexander Groggs, died on Monday. He was 32 years old.

Injury Reserve was founded in 2013 as an alt-rap group in the hopes of pushing the boundaries of genres. Groggs and his cohorts, rapper Ritchie With a T and producer Parker Corey, continued to expand their range through their three projects: 2015 Live from the dentist’s office, 2016 Silk, and their first eponymous album released last year. Groggs often used his space on their songs to intrude and observe. Below, we remember him through five of his most essential verses.

Washed Up, of Live From the dentist’s office

Groggs had a discreet reflection which is best demonstrated on Washed Up, a song about stagnation and a reluctance to grow. He uses the majority of his verses to unpack the complexities of the fandom. When another rapper could simply belittle those who don’t see his vision (or those who see it too late), his first impulse is to show empathy. He remembers what it was like to be in this same position (I can’t even speak because I did the same thing / One minute is your favorite, the next minute this lame nigga). He also establishes his predisposition to be introspective, presenting himself as someone with a troubled judgment, who feels alone in a crowd, and often who feels isolated. This self-assessment gives his assessment of strangers trying to connect with him greater emotional power. In the end, as he finishes by mentioning his continuing fight against excessive alcohol consumption (I’m always at a stroke of being really … screwed up), this becomes an indictment against his own inability to change.

Falling off Live from the dentist’s office

Alcoholism is central to many of Groggs’ verses. No one questions his addiction like that of Falling. His voice is heavy and the stress of life seems to weigh him down; He feared being a role model for his child and his day work would cut hours, in addition to the underlying underlying anxieties of being black in America. (I can’t even enjoy Arizona tea and the bowling bag, he raps, referencing Trayvon Martin). He goes for 30 years and he does not know if he has defined his priorities. All of this is presented as the fuel for his addiction to alcohol, which he calls his therapist. There is a dull discomfort that this thing can consume him. But even if he fears the prospect of getting lost in another bottle, there is optimism: I always keep control of life / when it seems that I am about to crash / mom raised well, so I know it’s okay, he raps, saying last sentence three times like a little prayer.

Oh shit !!! Silk

One of the characteristics of Injury Reserve as a crew is that they refused to settle in the same place. When Live from the dentist’s office was tabbed as jazz-rap, they responded with Oh Shit !!!, a bass boosted monster that challenged these signifiers. Even in the most aggressive moments of the group, Groggs often couldn’t help but look inside and consider his own personal journey. Remember that mom told me I had to pull myself together / 10 years have passed, the only difference is that I rapped better, he spits. This sharpening of skills is displayed here, its bars gain more and more momentum as he gains confidence, and he raps like someone who takes a step forward: This jazz rap doesn’t is not, what, this daddy rap / What fucks my nine to … five, I leave, I never come back.

Best place in the house, Reserve for injuries

The most striking thing about Groggs’ best verses is their intimacy and honesty, his ability to scrutinize his own motivations as closely as he would for someone else. On Best Spot in the House, an old friend, Chuck, suffers a heart attack and finds himself in a coma. Groggs, distressed with grief and trapped in the desert, prays for Chuck, vowing to contact him daily if he recovers. His rap has simple nudity and vulnerability.

Chuck survives but Groggs cannot keep his promise. You would send me a text, it would take about a week to respond / And I haven’t been pissed at / Guy, it’s so fucked up, he raps, eaten away by conscience. It is a calm and simple summary of human fallibility. But after two years, now plagued by moderate fame with Injury Reserve, Groggs releases a familiar silhouette from the crowd of the last show on their first sold-out tour. It ends with the kind of affectionate veins that testify to old friends. Given this mocking smile, I knew I was making you proud, stifling a mocker in this silent moment of reconnection, the communication gap is filled with mutual respect.

What a year since Reserve for injuries

The Groggs verse that feels most revealing and insightful following his loss is that on the thoughtful ode Injury Reserves What a Year Its Been, which plays on his strength as a rapper deliberating constantly on his actions. Here he reviews the mistakes he made when his group was about to see how many times he fell from the cart, how the least taste of success put him on autopilot (Aint doin enough, just the most). He takes responsibility for who he was and he promises to try to be better. Refuse to fuck that when our dream is too close / I had to grow up and put my pride behind / I got out of my funk, and now I feel alive, he raps. The verse seems to embody who Stepa J. Groggs was: a hopeful artist seeking to learn from his failures, who has never stopped looking for a way to unlock himself.