Many songs by the Arizona rap trio Injury Reserve are anchored by a contemplative, sometimes even self-effacing, verse from Stepa J. Groggs. His blunt, to-the-point style and traditionalist swagger gave his rhymes impact, but he was also constantly poring over moments from his past and present, hoping to make sense of the messes he’d made. Even with that pressure, his raps were often fun-loving and hopeful that taking it day-by-day would bring answers. His story was cut short before he got a chance to find his resolution: The rapper, born Jordan Alexander Groggs, died Monday. He was 32.
Injury Reserve was founded in 2013 as an alt-rap group hoping to push the genre’s boundaries. Groggs and his cohorts, rapper Ritchie With a T and producer Parker Corey, continued to expand their range across their three projects: 2015’s Live From the Dentist Office, 2016’s Floss, and their self-titled debut album released last year. Groggs often used his space on their songs for soul-searching and observation. Below, he is remembered through five of his most essential verses.
“Washed Up,” from Live From the Dentist Office
Groggs had an understated thoughtfulness that is best demonstrated on “Washed Up,” a song about stagnation and an unwillingness to grow. He uses the majority of his verse to unpack the complexities of fandom. Where another rapper might simply belittle those that don’t see his vision (or those who see it too late), his first impulse is to empathize. He remembers what it was like to be in that same position (“I can’t even talk because I’ve done the same/One minute that’s your favorite, next minute that nigga’s lame”). He also establishes his predisposition to be introspective, presenting himself as someone with clouded judgement, who feels alone in a crowd, and often who feels isolated. This self-assessment gives his evaluation of the strangers trying to connect with him greater emotional power. In the end, as he closes by mentioning his ongoing struggle with heavy drinking (“I’m always one shot away from being really ... fucked up”), it becomes an indictment of his own inability to change.
“Falling,” from Live From the Dentist Office
Alcoholism is at the center of many Groggs verses. None interrogates his addiction quite like the one on “Falling.” His voice is heavy and the stresses of life seem to be weighing him down; he’s worried about being a role model for his kid and his day job cutting back on hours, in addition to the constant underlying anxieties of being Black in America. (“Can’t even enjoy Arizona Tea and bag of Skittles,” he raps, referencing Trayvon Martin). He’s barreling toward 30 and he doesn’t know if he’s got his priorities straight. All of this is presented as fuel for his dependence on booze, which he refers to as “his therapist.” There is a muted unease that this thing might consume him. But even as he fears the prospect of losing himself down another bottle, there is optimism: “I’m still in control of life/When it seems I’m about to crash/Mama raised me well, so I know I’ll be alright,” he raps, uttering the last sentence three times like a little prayer.
“Oh Shit!!!,” from Floss
One of the hallmarks of Injury Reserve as a crew is that they refused to settle in one place. When Live From the Dentist Office was tabbed as jazz-rap, they responded with “Oh Shit!!!,” a bass-boosted behemoth that challenged those signifiers. Even in the group’s most abrasive moments, Groggs often couldn’t help but peer inward and consider his own personal journey. “Remember mama told me that I need to get my act together/10 years passed, the only difference is I’m rapping better,” he spits. That sharpening of skill is on display here, his bars steadily gathering momentum as he builds confidence, and he raps like someone making a way forward: “This ain’t jazz rap, this that, this that dad rap/This that fuck my nine-to-five, I’m leaving, never coming back.”
“Best Spot in the House,” from Injury Reserve
What’s most striking about the best Groggs verses is their intimacy and honesty, his ability to scrutinize his own motives as closely as he would someone else’s. On “Best Spot in the House,” an old friend, Chuck, suffers a heart attack and ends up in a coma. Groggs, grief-stricken and stuck in the desert, prays for Chuck, vowing to reach out to him every day if he recovers. His rapping has a simple nakedness and vulnerability.
Chuck survives but Groggs can’t keep his promise. “You would text me, it would take like a week to respond/And I ain’t got shit goin’ on/Man, that’s so fucked up,” he raps, consumed by conscience. It is a quiet and uncomplicated summation of human fallibility. But after two years pass, now in the throes of moderate fame with Injury Reserve, Groggs makes out a familiar silhouette in the crowd of the last show of their sold-out first headlining tour. He ends with the kind of affectionate ribbing indicative of old friends—“Seen that ugly-ass grin, knew I made you proud,” stifling a laugh—and in that silent moment of reconnection, the communication gap is filled by mutual respect.
“What a Year It’s Been,” from Injury Reserve
The Groggs verse that feels most revelatory and perceptive in the wake of his loss is the one on Injury Reserve’s reflective ode “What a Year It’s Been,” which plays into his strengths as a rapper constantly deliberating his actions. Here, he reviews the mistakes he made just as his group was on the verge—how often he fell off the wagon, how the slightest taste of success put him on auto-pilot (“Ain’t doin’ enough, just doin’ the most”). He takes accountability for who he has been and he vows to try and be someone better. “Refuse to fuck this up when our dream is too close/Had to grow up and put my pride behind/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 lessons from his failings, who never stopped searching for a way to unlock his best self.
