He was never bound to vulgar protest lyrics, leaning instead toward joy and lightheartedness.

Without the need for bombastic stickers that sound like opportunistic bragging, he embodied the values of reggae through his support for fellow musicians.

He once stood, even anchored himself, at a crossroads lit by flickering dim lights—like the pulse of reggae still in its infancy. Yet that step carved a mark in the industry, nurturing works that grew in the narrow alleys of the city, one of the very places where he wove friendships that became the heartbeat of Indonesian reggae. For him, friends and fans were the very lifeblood of melody, bonds that never faded, even after his death, his message remains relevant!

Once again, he did all this without a self-glorified digital catalog filled with cheap poses or agitated symbols—things that end up as mere accessories.

Bermusim-musim yang berganti, Namun dirimu selalu kunanti

Senang rasanya bertemu kembali.

Ingatkah waktu bersama tertawa, Ingatkah waktu bersama terluka,

Ingatkah waktu bersama berbagi bahagia?

This meaning never ceased.
Until the very end of his life.
His conviction was simple:

“Yang penting aku gak nipu, gak bikin susah kalian. Yang penting gak terlibat 378!” 

A frontman, rightly recognized as one of the pioneers of Jamaican sound in this country, was also known for his sharp yet simple way of capturing absurdities—often phrasing them lightly without diminishing the greater message within.

Kau cuma asal bicara, Kau buat semua sengsara

Kau tebar fitnah dan semuanya terluka.

Hingga kini kami kecewa, Kalian yang kami percaya

Saling berdusta

Steven Nugraha Kaligis never anointed himself as the sun in Indonesia’s reggae universe. “I’m just continuing the road that Tony Q, Imanez, and many others paved,” he once said, refusing the temptation of being made into a pop idol.

His debut The Other Side stood as a knot in the long rope of continuity, also marking the moment he chose to be an anti-protocol pioneer. From there, slowly but surely, he transformed into a giant magnet that pulled and nurtured the pulse of reggae in this land.

Steven was one of local heroes, a cultural weaver, keeping the fire of reggae alive. He gave stories to many musicians and scenesters of Jamaican sound in Indonesia. He did not seek crowns, nor did he busy himself constructing grand stages to validate his name. He chose instead to be the wave that always returns, reminding us: loyalty is more revolutionary than the loudest screams that rot in the air.

(Sam)