Silvana Estrada Discusses Pain, Violence, and the Insult of ‘El Ghosting’ in Powerful Interview

Over 25 years, Silvana Estrada admits she did not know how to get angry. “It drained my energy and self-respect,” she reflects. Sadness, however, was a familiar companion: “She has always been by my side.” At 28 years old, Estrada grew up outside Veracruz, an urban center on the Mexican Gulf, where she witnessed violence from so many angles: widespread gender-based killings, drug cartel influence, and environmental attacks on local farms and waterways. During her solitary youth, she discovered Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald. They helped guide the darkness she felt and introduced her to vocal improvisation.

Born to a family of luthiers, she started making her own music, played on a four-string Venezuelan cuatro and drawing from Mexican folk traditions. 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,” 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.”

Estrada still loves that album, she says today, during a New York interview. It earned her a Latin Grammy for best new artist and critical raves. But afterwards, she explains, “I really wanted to do something with my humour. Post-Marchita, I felt confined to a somber, solemn persona. 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. 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. 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: 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”. Each verse evokes the image of a tipped wineglass. “Sometimes our lives are like a telenovela – infinite drama and suffering,” she says, recalling the intense soaps from her childhood. “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 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. We need anger, actually, to fight for our lives and the lives of others.”

However, Vendrán Suaves Lluvias conveys serenity; it stands as a breathtakingly beautiful record. Following unsuccessful collaborations with 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 powerful voice overflowing with empathy. The radiant Como un Pájaro, a Latin Grammy nominee, evokes springtime freshness. She was surprised by the joyful melodies that came out of her. “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.”

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 says. “I was a little bit weird. I liked music that nobody was listening to. I felt deeply isolated. Even friends treated me poorly. I’ve always been highly sensitive.” Her first real friend, Jorge taught her what friendship was. “A person who loves, accepts, and honestly communicates with you. We were always together.”

When she planned to relocate to Mexico City, her parents were unsure until they heard that Jorge was going too. “They adored Jorge. He was like an older brother to me.” When she started touring, he came too. “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 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 (A Ray of Light) is her tribute to him. Composed at Chavela Vargas’s home, her idol, 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 believe in reintegration.”

Estrada has always been vocal about justice: a 2018 video backing abortion rights gained early traction, predating legalization. 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 was that example for Estrada. She returns the compliment. “She embodies the voice of youth, with profound 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, Mexico’s then president played Estrada’s music as part of an effort to deter young people from corridos tumbados, a genre criticized for cartel glorification. Estrada says she was “honoured”, but feels otherwise conflicted. Rather than banning such 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.”

Listening to herself helped Estrada become accountable to her own feelings. Writing the ultimatum Dime (Tell Me), she realised she didn’t want an ex to stay. She sought departure. “Discovering the power to walk away was liberating,” she explains. “For me, it was hard to understand that I could just say no.”

She links it to Greek mythology, specifically the Furies: vengeful deities with fearsome appearances. “I see their rage as a response to divine injustice. Society shuns them due to misogynistic views on female anger. But I actually feel much more connected with their spirit than the rest of the goddesses: Even with snakes for hair, I embrace it. I just want to be whatever makes me happy, or more alive, or better.”