SouthFM

To Whom It May Concern:

In August of 2003 I fell into a hole, 13ft deep. After working for years to get my music heard and getting signed to MCA Records my life came unglued. MCA folded as a company right in the middle of my first single and its roster was merged into Geffen Records. Geffen then started cutting their roster down and my band, SouthFM, along with so many others were kicked to the curb.

The brief rise of success quickly deteriorated a relationship I spent seven and a half years building. In the opening monologue of SouthFM's career, and amidst the Act I, Scene I of my adult life; the curtains were pulled.

So I did what any other self-delusional, self-absorbed, manic-depressive drama king would do... I tried my hardest to hit rock bottom. I convinced myself it was the only way I would ever see the top again; the top of that mountain that I had tasted. This was the mountain I climbed for 23 years and it was pulled out from underneath me like that cheap clown trick that breaks all your mother's favorite china.

I was giving up. I said, "fuck it," and one day at a time I let go of all self-respect and eventually began to watch my life like it was a movie. I began living with no control over anything and as my muscles tired of treading the shallow waters to stay afloat, I just stopped moving and let myself sink.

On my way down, I took all sense of responsibility and pride and tossed it. I would spend $60 - $80 on blow and without sharing a single bump of it would wake up the next evening to find only enough left to numb my gums. No one knew, except my bill collectors. Once a few old friends found me passed out in my car at a 7-11 while the engine was still running at 3:30am. Lucky for me, I had not yet alienated them. They saved me from going to jail because in that area of town a cop eventually would have come along.

Even after that incident, a few months later, I woke in the morning light - half in my car/half out of my car, door wide open, engine still running, still parked in a lot down in Deep Ellum, the downtown Dallas club district. I fled the scene in embarrassment but had to call a friend because I ran out of gas on the way home.

By April of 2004, I watched myself stand before peers at the closing of a four-day drinking binge; my body shaking from lack of water and food, and cry and cry... and cry. Bartenders, staff and close friends, in an attempt to communicate or express concern for my safety stood before me and in return my tears just ran. It's as if I was asking myself: "have you had enough yet."

It was like all the characters of this surreal movie turned and looked into the camera at me, the viewer sitting in the theater with my popcorn and soda, searching for the resolution. If there was going to be one, it was up to me. A voice deep down inside was begging me to stop destroying myself but I didn't care. The depression made the addictions worse. I was no longer inside a hole, the hole was inside of me and as I found nothing to fill it, it got bigger and deeper.

On my way to rock bottom, one person at a time, I isolated myself; until I had to stand on my own.

Throughout this time, though, I never stopped writing songs. And it was exactly this, writing songs, which kept me connected to some form of reality. The only thing that kept me from crossing that last line is that one song at a time I showed to the band; and one song at a time we would play for a listener. And suddenly I found myself making a connection with others again. Each song proved that I was not dying, and that I was not alone. And mostly, it showed me that I possessed more creative control to change my life than I could fathom at the time.

People began responding to my music in a different way than the response to SouthFM's first album, Drama Kids with our quasi-hit "Dear Claudia." The new songs were interacting with people's lives as my life had interacted with them as they were being written. There was this newfound communication that was being established, one person at a time. All phone lines were open. Strangers listening got to know me better than life long friends who didn't listen. Every song that made the album was one step closer to recovery. Every song was one step closer to my hole being filled.

As more people began asking me about the new music, I found the more of the story I told of the songs and how they came to be, the more they felt a part of it and the closer they connected with it. It seemed that like many relationships, if I laid myself and my truths on the line to strangers, they were more likely to trust me, and in that trust they became more likely to share themselves with me and my music, creating a personal relationship between us and them... getting more connected...meaning more to each other... sharing a better experience at live shows and ultimately leading to the want of more people to identify with it. In that identification I began to feel understood. I was less lost; less isolated.

It was understanding the importance of this relationship that ultimately made me a better songwriter and soon it became my goal to expose my story, my truth, my life, to lay down my fear of rejection; my fear of what people think about me and actually put myself out there for everyone to know. If I make myself vulnerable to others and ask that they do the same for me in return then we are truly sharing the music; sharing a relationship. By telling my truths perhaps more people will identify and establish a connection with SouthFM.

Seventeen weeks ago to date (January 30, 2005) I quit drinking; I quit smoking; I quit using drugs. Seventeen weeks is the longest I've ever gone without at least one of those vices since I was 14 years old.

Seventeen weeks ago, I let go of self-doubt, stopped being a passenger in my own car, swept up the confetti from my pity party, forgave myself for believing that I had failed, and began climbing this mountain again. Seventeen weeks ago I made a choice to sacrifice everything for the sake of connecting with as many people as possible; one listener at a time.

On the early morning of October 3rd 2004 I began remembering how to love me again.

In the past two years I found the blessing of songwriting; the blessing of teammates that believed in me (guitarists Chad Abbott and G.I. Sanders); the blessing of friends and family who never gave up on me; the blessing of Brando Records (our local label who has been there from the beginning); the blessing of RainMaker Artists (who encouraged the writing process to never cease); the blessing of life, and joined by the blessing of two new members (bassist James David Shafer and drummer Mauricio Martinez. I found the blessing of a new SouthFM.

A musician friend of mine said that when we got signed to MCA Records, other bands in the Dallas music scene began talking, as people do when you are in the spotlight. He said that they said, "why SouthFM?" In our defense, he simply responded with, "Because they wrote an incredible song." And we did. We wrote a song. And then we re-wrote that song three times until eventually we found the version that got us out of our day jobs for a year and put us out on the road touring with major label acts, fueled by major label money... but eventually that same song sent us back home.

I hope that this time around, when we get placed back into the spotlight, get re-signed, and Dallas bands and local scenesters ask again, "why SouthFM?" This time instead of saying "because they wrote an incredible song," perhaps, the first thing that comes to their minds will be, "because they wrote an incredible album."

The past two years of my life...

Swallowing The Pill

Sincerely, Paco Estrada

p.s. thank you for your time and your patience for if you have made it this far, perhaps we too are building a relationship.