I first saw Lolita Carbon and her band perform at the Bahay ng Alumni in UP Diliman in 1999. There they rendered a few numbers in a concert for a cause along with True Faith, Parokya ni Edgar and Eraserheads.
There and then, I found her voice indispensable.
And on this one fine evening, in Poblacion Mambusao, Capiz, she opened the night with “Masdan Mo Ang Kapaligiran,” a rather slow tune to start the ball rolling. After singing the piece, she said everyone must have known the song. True, it reminded me of my childhood. The piece was widely played on the radio when I was a grade-schooler. And it has never been as relevant as today—as perhaps countless climate change activities would make use of the anthem in all efforts toregain Mother Nature.
After the first two songs, she asked if the audience was still there. The audience was shockingly quiet, as in composed. The space inside the Villareal Cultural Center bordered serenity. Perhaps the Mambusaonons only liked to listen, I thought. The performer casually talked as she tried to engage the audience who hardly reacted. With a few applauses here and there, Lolita Carbon perhaps leveled off to her audience. Yet, it must have come effortlessly as her repertoire of songs consisted more of anthems of the soul, not the outbursts of a drug addict.
I supposed Lolita found it hard to have rapport with the audience, who perhaps expected a rather solemn repertoire. We, the crowd, were made to sit on Monobloc chairs—as in a graduation rites or a political rally, which is a rather awkward arrangement for a concert that you could possibly head-bang on. Well, what can you do? The concert was for a cause.
The audiences were old folks, perhaps religious men and women and their families who came in droves to support the fundraising. I came to the concert with Jennylen Laña, my teacher friend. Jenny joined me the entire evening.
I found myself singing along with Lolita Carbon, much to Jenny’s delight and awe. She was surprised that I know the lyrics of most of the songs by heart—some words across the lines I could barely recall. Having listened to Asin through the years, I told her some of their songs even became my anthems.
Lolita Carbon wrote and sang the songs from her heart—she sang “Magulang” and “Itanong Mo sa Mga Bata” to probably inject some morale into the audience. “Usok” reminded me of the nights many, many years ago when I would seek refuge from the tedium of city work. I remembered how the karaoke nights along Visayas Avenue just made me go on. That was before. That was before.
Have you ever roused someone from sleep, she asked. Perhaps the most difficult person to wake is someone who is wide awake—nagtutulug-tulugan lang. Lolita then sang, “Gising Na, Kaibigan Ko” which made me sing with her all throughout—“Nakita mo na ba ang mga bagay na dapat mong nakita? /Nagawa mo na ba ang mga bagay na dapat mong ginawa? /Kalagan ang tali sa paa; imulat na ang iyong mga mata; /Kaysarap ng buhay lalo na’t alam mo kung saan papunta.”
The song did not need Lolita Carbon’s conversation or explanation; her incantations were enough to make someone reflect. It also reminded me of the recent Nescafe TV ad—which asks, “Para kanino ka gumigising?” A purposeful life is worth living, it said.
Later in the night, Lolita related that many, many years ago, she wrote “Tuldok” with Cesar “Saro” Bañares, Jr. “Tuldok” said everyone has to be humble because compared to the whole universe, we are infinitesimal. Some years ago I learned how Bañares was knifed to death in a bar brawl somewhere in Mindanao. No amount of stardom can make someone supernova, indeed.
Towards the end of the evening, Lolita featured a song “Pagbabalik,” which she said won for her a music award back in the late 70s. Immediately, the song made me recall Ninoy Aquino’s plight when he was exiled to the United States—“Bayan ko, nahan ka?/Ako ngayo’y nag-iisa/Nais kong magbalik/Saiyo, bayan ko/Patawarin mo ako/Kung ako’y nagkamali/Sa landas na aking tinahak.”
Having read much of the national hero’s life and works, I could picture Ninoy’s famous last TV footage before he was gunned down in tarmac in 1983. I felt alive that I just do not exist—having these recollections and the ability to remember something significant beyond myself, I thought I proudly belong to history.
Some indistinct voices at the back requested for more numbers from the band. That’s why the last number was rendered with the sponsor priest. But soon after that, the night was over.
The concert wrapped up with Lolita Carbon singing with the sponsor priest, Fr. Banias, who sang “Dahil Sa’yo/Because of You” with the rock star. The last piece was more of a prayer, as it was sung with a priest. I heard my voice singing to God. “Dahil sa’yo, nais kong mabuhay/Dahil sa’yo, handang mamatay.” When the priest sang with the rock star, the melody, the harmony created went up the air as in “Usok,” in utter prayerful fashion.
It was too early to finish the concert. Yet, the husky voice of Lolita Carbon [when she said thank you and good night] told me two things. One, the Mambusaonons could have jammed with her the whole night long if they wanted to—her singing voice could simply relax anyone’s nerves. Her chords and her band’s drums and percussion will surely make one grab the next Red Horse bottle, and he could simply start to want to talk about something worthwhile.
Or, was it now the best time to end? The audience barely reacted to her. And the solemn concert arrangement disabled any wild audience to break out to head bang or something. Perhaps because the songs were just enough to make the audience recall. To make them recall is enough to make them quiet and spend their own spaces throughout the evening.
It was as if the audience came from an opera. Everyone was quiet and composed as the time they went in. All throughout the concert, Lolita engaged the audience, and made them sing with her and her band. The songs and their themes, I suppose, were more moral than musical, spiritual than synthetic. It was one of the most serious concert audiences I have been with.
“Kung tunay man ako ay alipinin mo/Ang lahat sa buhay ko’y dahil sa’yo.” I thought Lolita Carbon’s voice rose not only from her diaphragm but from her soul. I also thought perhaps if my soul has a voice, it would be hers. I thought I could tell her that. I told Jenny I would want to meet the rock star at the backstage. I realized that I was one of her biggest fans. I wanted to talk to her. I asked one of the organizers if they sold CDs or stuff. There was none, I was told. It was simply a concert for a cause, I thought.
Two weeks ago, Mrs. Erna Ticar, my fellow employee who works for the church, handed me the ticket labeled “Biyaheng Langit: Lolita Carbon of Asin and her Band in Concert.” The five hundred-peso ticket came with the privilege to donate for the reroofing of the church of St Catherine of Alexandria parish of Mambusao, Capiz.
Proceeds of the event will go to the renovation of the house of worship of the Mambusaonons, I thought. Or the ticket must have meant—perhaps Bro wants me to take things easy in my new work environment—and is probably telling me to relax and slow down. Really slow things down. I was right on both.
I thought that Lolita Carbon just sang it right, “Kaya wala kang dapat na ipagmayabang/Na ikaw ay mautak at maraming alam/Pagkat kung susuriin at ating isipin/Katulad ng lahat, ikaw ay tuldok rin.”
When Jenny and I stepped out from the crowd, it was still evening.
