Vendrán Suaves Lluvias

After years of touring the world with *Marchita*, Silvana Estrada was burned out. “I made this album during an incredibly difficult time in my life,” she tells Apple Music of *Vendrán Suaves Lluvias*. “I had toured endlessly and was exhausted. My best friend and his brother passed away, and I felt orphaned from so many things at once. I needed to reconnect with beauty in order to feel okay again.” Produced by Estrada with orchestral arrangements by Owen Pallett, the record feels intimate yet cinematic: delicate acoustic textures brushed by sweeping strings. The melancholy of “Dime,” with echoes of Latin American folk, yields to the lightness of “Como un Pájaro,” guided by a whistled melody. Each track feels handcrafted, led by instinct and honesty rather than perfectionism. The title reaches back to childhood. Estrada and her brother read Ray Bradbury’s *The Martian Chronicles*, which closes on Sara Teasdale’s poem “There Will Come Soft Rains,” written after World War I. “That image of hope amid desolation stayed with me forever,” she recalls. It became an anchor for this work—a metaphor for renewal after devastation. It resurfaces in “No Te Vayas Sin Saber,” one of the album’s most luminous and personal songs. “It’s a calm goodbye—because I know that someday I’ll be okay again, and maybe I’ll see you without the pain,” she says. The path there wasn’t simple. Before this project, Estrada tried to record an album in Texas in 10 days—a creative sprint that left her dissatisfied. “Some of those songs died—they stayed there, on the battlefield,” she admits. “When I can remember that time with gratitude, I’ll listen to them again.” That unfinished chapter shed expectations, clearing space for *Vendrán Suaves Lluvias* to emerge truer and freer. Throughout, Estrada braids Mexican folk roots with expanding curiosity. “I didn’t even like life that much at that point, but I still loved beauty,” she says. “And beauty became a kind of promise—because if it could exist inside a song, then maybe it could exist outside of it, too.” That belief turns *Vendrán Suaves Lluvias* into more than a collection of songs: a meditation on beauty’s persistence in the face of despair. “I’m not religious, but in difficult moments, singing has always felt like a prayer,” she says. “When I’m alone and feeling low, I always start singing to lift myself up a little. Before every show, I ask myself how I can turn it into a ritual, how I can make this moment something that makes life feel a little better, even for a while.”

Informed by multiple recent griefs, the Mexican singer-songwriter’s album grapples with heartbreak, mourning, and the desperate necessity of forward motion.