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For 25 years, Silvana Estrada admits she did not know the art of expressing anger. “It drained my energy and self-respect,” she states. Sadness, however, was something she always understood: “She has always been by my side.” At 28 years old, the artist was raised near Veracruz, an urban center on the Mexican Gulf, where she witnessed violence from so many angles: widespread gender-based killings, narcoculture, and ecological destruction on local farms and rivers. During her solitary youth, she found solace in jazz legends like Billie Holiday. They helped guide the darkness she felt and introduced her to vocal improvisation.

Hailing from a lineage of instrument makers, she began composing her own songs, played on a four-string Venezuelan cuatro and drawing from Mexican folk traditions. The title of her acclaimed 2022 debut, Marchita, translates to “withered” and the record offered a spare, devastating, deeply poetic account of first love gone awry.

“I consider her one of the richest artists of our time,” says her peer and mentor, the Mexican songwriter Natalia Lafourcade. “Her voice embodies liberty, exotic beauty, and Latin American spirit. It echoes a bond with love, the natural world, and human connections.”

She remains fond of that record, she mentions now, sitting in a New York cafe. It earned her a Latin Grammy for best new artist and critical raves. However, later, she says, “I really wanted to do something with my humour. Post-Marchita, I felt confined to a somber, solemn persona. That is also me, but I wanted to show myself in a way that’s even closer to how I really am.” She fondly recalls her younger self so animatedly that her sparkly rose-shaped earrings swing. Some of Marchita’s songs dated back to when she was 18, she says: “I view that eloquence and darkness as naive, believing it was the sole way to express love and dreams.”

A New Direction and Darker Themes

Her second album, she decided, would be poppier, lighter. Yet, personal losses unveiled a deeper, darker aspect. Her latest songs brim with accusation and despair: toward former partners who didn’t return her feelings; for a friend who ditched her “because he couldn’t stand that my career was” – she shoots her hand upwards – “and his wasn’t. That betrayal led to deep depression. I thought, ‘I cannot believe that I’ve been loving you as my brother all these years and you don’t want to see me because you feel small?’ The shock was profound.”

She channelled her indignation into Good Luck, Good Night, a dramatic, humorous farewell to the pettiness of ghosting. Every line feels as though it should be accompanied by the wayward slosh of a glass of wine. “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

While composing, she discovered anger’s utility. “Anger drives you to uphold your boundaries and desires. It’s a peculiar, almost grandmotherly nudge toward self-awareness. We need anger, actually, to fight for our lives and the lives of others.”

But Vendrán Suaves Lluvias (Soft Rains Will Come) doesn’t sound angry; it stands as a breathtakingly beautiful record. Following unsuccessful collaborations with producers, Silvana decided to do it herself. She acknowledged her unique vision. 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. She was surprised by the joyful melodies that came out of her. “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, killed violently with his family in late 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. I liked music that nobody was listening to. 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 Estrada wanted to move to Mexico City, her parents were unsure until they heard that Jorge was going too. “They loved Jorge so much. He was like an older brother to me.” He accompanied her on tours. “I relished feeling cherished, shedding my loneliness.”

With Jorge, says Estrada: “I rediscovered childhood joy. My heart felt weightless. Now it carries heaviness. I’m adapting to it.” Somber and intensified by strings, Un Rayo de Luz (A Ray of Light) is her tribute to him. It was written during a residency at the house of the late singer Chavela Vargas, her idol, and interpolates her words: “¿Cómo será de hermosa la muerte que nadie ha vuelto de allá?” “I really want to believe that,” she says.

Advocacy and Empowerment

The perpetrators were apprehended. “They’ll perish in prison,” she declares, “but justice is merely the baseline. Institutions failed us all. I don’t fully trust incarceration. I believe in reintegration.”

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 use my platform to empower, particularly young girls,” she affirms.

Lafourcade inspired her. She returns the compliment. “She is undoubtedly the voice of young generations, with a soul and heart of great sensitivity,” says Lafourcade. “I see her as an old soul and wisdom within a young body full of vitality and beauty in every sense.”

Music, Culture, and Conversation

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. Estrada says she was “honoured”, but had mixed feelings. Instead of cancelling this kind of music, she suggests, “we should talk about why people are admiring people who are killing us, killing our freedom, killing all the things we love.” She adds: “In Mexico, there are so many things we need to start talking about, and we need to involve everybody. Conversation is important to change your reality.”

Listening to herself helped Estrada become accountable to her own feelings. Composing Dime, she recognized her desire to leave. she wanted to leave. “It was such a useful thing to realise you can always turn around and walk away,” she says. “I struggled to grasp my right to refuse.”

She draws parallels to the Furies of Greek myth: goddesses of vengeance depicted with horrifying facial features. “I see their rage as a response to divine injustice. Nobody wants to feel connected to the Furies because they’re ugly – it’s a really machista, misogynist conception of female fury. But I align with their spirit over other goddesses: Even with snakes for hair, I embrace it. I strive for happiness, vitality, and growth.”