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Over 25 years, the Mexican singer-songwriter admits she was unable to learn how to get angry. “That cost me so much energy and dignity,” she states. Melancholy, on the other hand, was a familiar companion: “I live with her very close to me.” Now 28, Estrada was raised outside Veracruz, a city on the Mexican Gulf, exposed to multifaceted violence: widespread gender-based killings, narcoculture, and ecological destruction on local farms and rivers. 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.

Born to a family of luthiers, she started making her own music, using a 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.

“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.”

Estrada still loves that album, she mentions now, sitting in a New York cafe. It won her a Latin Grammy and widespread acclaim. 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. 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. Tracks from Marchita originated in her teens, she notes: “I view that eloquence and darkness as naive, believing it was the sole way to express love and dreams.”

Shifting Sounds and Deeper Emotions

She planned a brighter, more pop-oriented follow-up. Yet, personal losses unveiled a deeper, darker aspect. Estrada’s new lyrics are stark with recrimination and brutal despondence: for ex-lovers who couldn’t reciprocate; 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?’ That shocked me so much.”

She channelled her indignation into Good Luck, Good Night, a fabulously melodramatic, comic kiss-off for something as pathetic as “el ghosting”. Every line feels as though it should be accompanied by the wayward slosh of a glass of wine. “Sometimes our lives are like a telenovela – infinite drama and suffering,” she says, referencing the high-octane Latin American soap operas of her youth. “Existence involves pain, but ghosting—where someone chooses invisibility—is utterly miserable!” She still sounds offended. “It’s ironic, highlighting human pettiness.”

The Power of Anger

While composing, she discovered anger’s utility. “Anger drives you to uphold your boundaries and desires. It’s beautiful, strange, uncomfortable, almost like a grandmother telling you: ‘What are you doing? You don’t want this.’ 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. After futile attempts to make the record with four other producers, she took creative control. 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. Joyful tunes emerged unexpectedly. “As I get older, I understand the importance of pleasure and joy, even during hard times. This album is like a pendulum between beauty and terror.”

Tragedy and Tribute

Ghosting’s sting faded compared to losing her friend 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 an odd child. I liked music that nobody was listening to. I felt deeply isolated. Even the friends I had were super mean to me. I’m super sensible [sensitive].” Her first real friend, Jorge taught her what friendship was. “A person who loves, accepts, and honestly communicates with you. We were inseparable.”

When she planned to relocate 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.”

Regarding Jorge, she shares: “I could be a child again. My heart was so light. And now my heart is heavy. I’m getting used to it.” Grave and sharpened by sudden bursts of strings, Un Rayo de Luz honors his memory. It was written during a residency at the house of the late singer Chavela Vargas, her hero, incorporating her line: “How beautiful must death be?” “I cling to that belief,” she states.

Advocacy and Empowerment

The perpetrators were apprehended. “They’re gonna die in jail,” says Estrada, “but justice is the minimum. The state, everybody, failed us. I don’t fully trust incarceration. I advocate for rehabilitation.”

Estrada has always been vocal about justice: one of the earliest online hits for her is a 2018 video supporting Mexican abortion rights, three years before they were legalised. In 2022, she released Si Me Matan following a student’s murder. “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,” Lafourcade comments. “She possesses ancient wisdom in a vibrant, beautiful form.”

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. She felt honored, but had mixed feelings. Instead of cancelling this kind of music, she says, “we should talk about why people are admiring people who are killing us, killing our freedom, killing all the things we love.” “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. “Discovering the power to walk away was liberating,” she explains. “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. “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 align with their spirit over other 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.”