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Over 25 years, the Mexican singer-songwriter confesses she did not know the art of expressing anger. “That cost me so much energy and dignity,” she states. Melancholy, however, was something she always understood: “I live with her very close to me.” At 28 years old, the artist was raised outside Veracruz, an urban center on the Mexican Gulf, exposed to multifaceted violence: widespread gender-based killings, drug cartel influence, and environmental attacks on local farms and waterways. As a lonely teenager, she discovered jazz legends like Billie Holiday. They helped guide the darkness she felt and sparked her interest in improvisational singing.

Hailing from a lineage of instrument makers, she started making her own music, using a Venezuelan cuatro and inspired by Mexican son jarocho. The title of her acclaimed 2022 debut, Marchita, translates to “withered” presenting a minimalist, heartbreaking narrative of lost love.

“She stands among the most profound artists today,” notes fellow musician Natalia Lafourcade. “Her voice is freedom, it is birds of paradise, it is Mexico and Latin America. It reflects a deep connection to love, nature and human relationships.”

She remains fond of that record, she mentions now, during a New York interview. It earned her a Latin Grammy for best new artist and critical raves. But afterwards, she explains, “I aimed to incorporate more humor. After Marchita, I was a little bit trapped in this character that is sad and dark, very eloquent, very solemn. While that’s part of me, I sought to reveal my truer self.” Estrada talks with tender humour about that serious young girl with such energy that her earrings dance. Some of Marchita’s songs dated back to when she was 18, she notes: “All this eloquence, darkness, I see it as so much naiveness because I thought that was the only way to talk about love and dreams.”

Shifting Sounds and Deeper Emotions

She planned a brighter, more pop-oriented follow-up. But then unexpected losses forced her to get acquainted with an even darker side of her personality. Estrada’s new lyrics are stark with recrimination and brutal despondence: toward former partners who didn’t return her feelings; regarding a friend who abandoned her over career envy. I got so depressed after that. She wondered how years of brotherly love could end over insecurity. That shocked me so much.”

She transformed her anger into Good Luck, Good Night, a fabulously melodramatic, comic kiss-off for something as pathetic as “el ghosting”. Each verse evokes the image of a tipped wineglass. “Life often mirrors a telenovela, full of endless drama,” she remarks, referencing the high-octane Latin American soap operas of her youth. “Which is true, to be alive is to suffer, but being ghosted, the fact that someone who is alive decides to be a ghost for you – it’s so miserable!” Her offense remains palpable. “It’s ironic, highlighting human pettiness.”

Harnessing Anger’s Energy

During the process of writing, “I was like, wow, anger is really helpful,” she says. “Anger is this energy that really wants you to be responsible for your needs and your limits. It’s a peculiar, almost grandmotherly nudge toward self-awareness. Ultimately, anger is essential for personal and collective survival.”

But Vendrán Suaves Lluvias (Soft Rains Will Come) doesn’t sound angry; it’s one of the year’s most unabashedly beautiful albums. Following unsuccessful collaborations with producers, she took creative control. She realised: “‘You’re the only one that knows what you want.’ It was so irresponsible to let in other people, to ignore my own desire.” She augments her cuatro with swooping flourishes of strings, piano and woodwind, her commanding voice brimming with compassion. The bright, dewy Como un Pájaro (Like a Bird), nominated for best singer-songwriter song at next month’s Latin Grammys, evokes springtime freshness. Joyful tunes emerged unexpectedly. “Aging has taught me to cherish joy amid adversity. This album is like a pendulum between beauty and terror.”

Loss and Homage

The insult of being ghosted paled next to the tragedy of losing her best friend and fellow musician, Jorge, who was brutally murdered alongside his brother and uncle in December 2022. “This is a little bit embarrassing, but I didn’t value friendship very much when I was growing up,” she confesses. “I was a little bit weird. My musical tastes were unconventional. I felt deeply isolated. Even the friends I had were super mean to me. I’ve always been highly sensitive.” Jorge showed her true friendship. “Someone that loves you, accepts you, who has the generosity of telling you: ‘Hey, you did this and I didn’t like it,’ or, ‘This is amazing, I love you.’ We were always together.”

When she planned to relocate to Mexico City, her parents consented only because Jorge joined. “They adored Jorge. He was like an older brother to me.” He accompanied her on tours. “I enjoyed so much feeling loved, not so like this super lonely child.”

With Jorge, says Estrada: “I could be a child again. My heart felt weightless. And now my heart is heavy. I’m getting used to it.” Somber and intensified by strings, Un Rayo de Luz (A Ray of Light) is her tribute to him. Composed at Chavela Vargas’s home, her idol, and interpolates her words: “¿Cómo será de hermosa la muerte que nadie ha vuelto de allá?” “I cling to that belief,” she states.

Advocacy and Empowerment

The perpetrators were apprehended. “They’ll perish in prison,” she declares, “but justice is the minimum. Institutions failed us all. I don’t fully trust incarceration. I advocate for rehabilitation.”

Estrada has always been vocal about justice: a 2018 video backing abortion rights gained early traction, three years before they were legalised. In 2022, she released the song Si Me Matan (If They Kill Me) after the student Mara Fernández was murdered by a ride-share driver. “I try to use the voice I have and the space that has been given to me as an example of empowerment, especially for little girls,” she affirms.

Lafourcade inspired her. She returns the compliment. “She embodies the voice of youth, with profound sensitivity,” says Lafourcade. “She possesses ancient wisdom in a vibrant, beautiful form.”

Art, Society, and Dialogue

In 2023, her music was used to counter corridos tumbados, the genre of regional Mexican trap popularised by Peso Pluma that has been accused of glorifying drug cartels and stoking violence. She felt honored, but had mixed feelings. Instead of cancelling this kind of music, she says, “we must discuss why society idolizes destructive figures.” “Mexico needs open dialogue involving all. Conversation drives real change.”

Self-reflection fostered emotional accountability. Writing the ultimatum Dime (Tell Me), she realised she didn’t want an ex to stay. she wanted to leave. “It was such a useful thing to realise you can always turn around and walk away,” she explains. “I struggled to grasp my right to refuse.”

She links it to Greek mythology, specifically the Furies: vengeful deities with fearsome appearances. “My interpretation is that they were angry because of all the injustice on Olympus. Nobody wants to feel connected to the Furies because they’re ugly – it’s a really machista, misogynist conception of female fury. But I actually feel much more connected with their spirit than the rest of the goddesses: OK, I’m gonna have snakes instead of hair and one eye in my frente – I don’t care: I strive for happiness, vitality, and growth.”