Lolita Carbon has seen folk music through every era of change. Sitting quietly in the Filipino Music Awards dressing room, she waits for her turn to perform “Masdan Mo Ang Kapaligiran” alongside Yeng Constantino and the Manila Philharmonic Orchestra. At 72 years old, she still carries the same fire that made her the voice of Asin, one of the most important folk rock groups of the 1970s.
During the height of Martial Law, Asin gave a generation its conscience through music. The trio’s songs captured the stories that couldn’t always be told out loud at a time of social upheaval. For Carbon, folk music was always about survival. At the time, she recalls, music of every kind was thriving. Though Carbon’s voice may have softened over the years, her conviction has not. In her songs and spirit, folk remains unshaken deep inside.
“Noong time kasi noong ‘70s, all types of music were out,” Carbon tells Rolling Stone Philippines. “Maganda yung disco before, maganda yung rock, maganda yung love songs, maganda yung folk songs, maganda yung folk rock. Everything is beautiful.”
Folk in the Past
When the 1980s came, Carbon stepped back from the spotlight to start a family. But her creative restlessness eventually pushed her back into music, this time through her own band, Lolita and the Boys. She experimented with pop-reggae, trying to make a name for herself beyond Asin’s legacy.
“Nag-unwind muna ako,” she says. “Sabi ko, sige ba. Tutuloy ko ulit yung legacy ng mga songs na sinulat ko, especially yung compositions namin ni Cesar Bañares, Jr. When I’m playing with a band, I call them ‘Asin Band’ because we [honor] the same songs I wrote. But of course, with a touch of Millennium. Kailangan mong mag-level up.”
For Carbon, evolution is essential to folk music’s survival. She believes the genre has yet to reach its full potential. To her, folk continues to expand, finding new life in younger songwriters who understand today’s struggles.
“Doon halos nag-start lahat e … then it turned into pop. Yan ang roots,” she says. “It’s just a matter of how you do it or how you make a version out of it… Even my own songs, [yung mga] sinulat ko noon, if I sing it now, I do not like to do it the same [way]. Iba na yung feeling noon. I have to do it again with a new expression to keep up with the new generation.”
At the first-ever Filipino Music Awards, Carbon’s presence is more than symbolic. It represents a long-overdue acknowledgment of the artists who built the country’s musical identity from the ground up. Folk music existed before the arrival of rock and pop, and it remains one of the most enduring vessels of Filipino storytelling. Additionally, Carbon sees the genre not as a relic of protest, but as a living, breathing language of the people. It still thrives everywhere — in the provinces, in small towns, in the voices of those who play music with only a guitar and a story to tell.
“Ang folk music kasi madaling tugtugin yun,” she says. “Alam mo, sa mga bukid, ang mga tao doon na walang radyo at may gitara lang sila, marunong tumugtog. Yung una nilang tutugtugin ay yung madaling tugtugin sa gitara, especially kung maganda yung lyrics mo. It is closest to the heart of people who truly love folk music.”
