In the sun-drenched haze of Cabo San Lucas, where the Pacific crashes against tequila-soaked shores, or amid the neon frenzy of a Las Vegas boxing match, Sammy Hagar and Toby Keith built a friendship that transcended genres, generations, and even the final curtain of life itself. Now, at 77, the Red Rocker—former Van Halen frontman and eternal party-starter—has pulled back the veil on their private world, revealing anecdotes of raw honesty, shared punches (literal and figurative), and a mutual respect that turned two larger-than-life icons into everyday brothers. In a sprawling interview with Grok News from his Newport Beach home, Hagar, voice gravelly from decades of belting anthems, said, “Toby wasn’t just a buddy; he was family. We kept it low-key because that’s how we rolled—no cameras, no drama. But hell, it’s time the world knew the real guy behind ‘Red Solo Cup’ and ‘Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue.’ He was deeper than that.”

The timing feels poignant. Toby Keith passed away on February 5, 2024, at 62, after a valiant two-year battle with stomach cancer that he fought with the same bull-headed grit that defined his music. Hagar, who outlived his friend by a generation’s margin, has spent the past 18 months processing the loss quietly—hosting charity golf tournaments in Keith’s name, jamming impromptu tributes on cruise ships, and, most recently, at the 2024 CMT Awards, where he rocked a Toby Keith T-shirt while crooning “I Love This Bar.” But in this exclusive sit-down, Hagar dives deeper, sharing stories he’s held close for over two decades. “I waited because grief’s a sneaky bastard,” he admitted, nursing a glass of his signature Cabo Wabo Blanco. “But Toby would’ve wanted me to tell it straight—no sugarcoating, just the truth.”

Their origin story reads like a rock-country fever dream, starting in the early 2000s at Hagar’s legendary Cabo Wabo Cantina—a beachside mecca for spring breakers and celebrities alike. Keith, then a rising country firebrand with a voice like aged bourbon, first rolled into town for a low-key getaway. Hagar, fresh off his Van Halen heyday and building his tequila empire, spotted the Oklahoma native nursing a beer at the bar. “I knew who he was—’Who’s That Man’ was everywhere,” Hagar recalled with a chuckle. “But Toby? He acted like just another guy in flip-flops. We started talking boxing—both of us loved the sweet science. Mike Tyson, Muhammad Ali, the whole deal. Five minutes in, and we’re swapping war stories like we’d known each other forever.”

That spark ignited a blaze. Keith, a self-taught songwriter from the heartland, bonded instantly with Hagar’s unfiltered vibe. “Toby was honest to a fault—direct, no BS,” Hagar said. “He’d call you out if you were full of it, but always with a grin. We hit it off because we were both outsiders who made it big on our terms.” Their first real jam session happened that night at Cabo Wabo, with Keith grabbing a guitar and belting out Eagles covers, Seger deep cuts, and even Van Halen riffs from Hagar’s era. “The man was a jukebox,” Hagar marveled. “He knew every Van Halen song cold—’Finish What Ya Started’ was his jam. We’d trade verses till the sun came up, him on country twang, me on rock howl. No egos, just music.”

The anecdotes Hagar shares paint a portrait of loyalty tested and triumphant. One standout: the “Stays in Mexico” saga from 2004. Keith penned the sultry hit for his Shock’n Y’all album, name-dropping Cabo Wabo in lyrics that evoked midnight flings and salty breezes. The track exploded, going triple platinum and funneling free publicity to Hagar’s cantina. In gratitude, Hagar gifted Keith a vintage Cadillac—a cherry-red ’65 convertible he’d restored himself. “I figured, hey, the guy’s song’s worth millions in promo,” Hagar laughed. “But Toby? He shows up at the next Cabo party with this beat-up old truck instead. Turns out, he’d traded the Caddy straight-up for it with some local fisherman. ‘Sammy, cars like that are for posers,’ he said. ‘This here’s a real ride—smells like adventure.’ I was pissed at first, then busting a gut. We poked fun about it for years.”

That playful ribbing became their love language. Keith took to calling Hagar “Sambo,” a teasing nod to his red hair and endless energy, while Hagar dubbed him “Big Dog Daddy”—a moniker that stuck through tour buses and bar tabs. Their bond deepened during a 2005 Vegas bender, tied to a middleweight title fight between Bernard Hopkins and Felix Trinidad. Hagar, a boxing aficionado, had Keith in tow for the MGM Grand showdown. “We bet big—Toby on Hopkins, me on Trinidad,” Hagar recounted. “I won 40 grand. Instead of pocketing it, we stuffed the cash in a duffel, rented this monster van, and bar-hopped the Strip till dawn. Hit every dive from Fremont to the Bellagio, buying rounds for strangers, singing ‘I Can’t Drive 55’ at the top of our lungs. Toby’s hollering ‘Whiskey Girl’ in between. Cops pulled us over twice—thought we were trouble. But Toby sweet-talked ’em with that Oklahoma charm. Best night of my life.”

Mutual admiration fueled the fire. Keith, who grew up idolizing rock gods in a trailer park outside Oklahoma City, saw Hagar as a blueprint for longevity. “He told me once, ‘Sammy, you survived Van Halen drama, divorces, the whole circus—and you’re still rocking at 50. Teach me that,’” Hagar shared. In turn, Hagar revered Keith’s songwriting prowess. “Toby was one of the greatest of our generation,” he said. “Songs like ‘Should’ve Been a Cowboy’ or ‘As Good As I Once Was’—they’re personal, they’re real. He wrote what he lived, no filter. We’d sit on the beach, him strumming ideas, me chiming in on hooks. He even cut a track mentioning my bar; that was his way of saying, ‘We’re in this together.’”

Their collaboration extended beyond beach jams. In 2013, when devastating tornadoes ravaged Oklahoma, Keith organized the “Oklahoma Twister Relief Concert” in Norman, pulling in heavy hitters like Garth Brooks and Alabama. Hagar flew in last-minute, joining Keith onstage for a blistering “I Love This Bar” that raised eyebrows—and millions—for recovery efforts. “Toby was all heart,” Hagar noted. “He built the OK Kids Korral for cancer kids because of his own fight later on. Philanthropy wasn’t a photo op; it was who he was.” Keith reciprocated at Hagar’s events, guzzling tequilas at Cabo Wabo galas and co-hosting golf classics that blended country swagger with rock ‘n’ roll flair.

The private side? That’s where the depth shone. Away from spotlights, they were confidants. Hagar opened up about his 2011 throat cancer scare, drawing parallels to Keith’s later diagnosis. “We’d talk health, family, the road’s toll,” Hagar said softly. “Toby’s divorce from Trisha in ’07? I was on the phone every week, reminding him life’s too short for grudges. They reconciled, thank God. And when my second marriage hit rough patches, he’d say, ‘Sammy, fight for it like you’d fight in the ring.’ No judgment, just straight talk.” Keith’s patriotism, often politicized in media, was simpler in person. “He loved America—the diners, the backroads, the people,” Hagar clarified. “Songs like ‘American Soldier’ came from his gut, not headlines. We’d debate politics over beers, but it never got ugly. Respect first.”

Tragedy tested their steel. Keith’s 2022 cancer reveal hit Hagar like a freight train. “I flew to Oklahoma, sat with him in chemo,” he revealed. “Toby was weak but cracking jokes: ‘Sammy, if I kick it, you better dedicate a tequila flight to me.’ We planned one last Cabo trip that never happened.” Keith’s final shows in December 2023 at Las Vegas’ Dolby Theatre were a defiant roar—Hagar introduced him, dueting on “A Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action” and Ted Nugent’s “Stranglehold.” “Those were his last stands,” Hagar said, eyes misting. “He powered through pain like a warrior. Backstage, he hugged me and said, ‘Keep the party going, Red.’ I didn’t know it was goodbye.”

Post-loss, Hagar’s tributes have been a lifeline. On the February 2024 Rock Legends Cruise, a fan’s red Solo Cup and “TOBY” T-shirt onstage prompted an emotional “I Love This Bar” rendition—Hagar kissing the shirt mid-song. At the CMT Awards in April, flanked by Brooks & Dunn and Lainey Wilson, he channeled their Vegas escapades into a raw performance. “Toby and I spent years in Cabo, hitting bars,” he told the crowd. “This song? It’s us.” Hosting the 21st Toby Keith & Friends Golf Classic in May 2025—postponed from grief—Hagar swapped stories with Keith’s family, including wife Trisha and kids Shelley, Krystal, and son Stelen. “Trisha’s got that Caddy now,” he joked. “I’m negotiating it back— for memories.”

At 77, Hagar’s no stranger to reflection. Born Samuel Roy Hagar on October 13, 1947, in Salinas, California, he clawed from a childhood of poverty—picking cotton at age 11—to rock stardom with Montrose in the ’70s, then Van Halen from 1985 to 1996 (and sporadic reunions). Hits like “I Can’t Drive 55” and “Why Can’t This Be Love” made him a household name, but his tequila brand and Cabo empire cemented his mogul status. Married to Kari Karte since 1995, with four kids and grandkids, Hagar’s mellowed into a sage—still touring with Chickenfoot and The Circle, but prioritizing legacy.

Keith’s shadow looms large in that legacy. “He taught me vulnerability in songwriting,” Hagar mused. “My stuff’s fun, but Toby’s cut deep—loyalty, loss, love. Our friendship? It was mutual admiration, plain and simple. Rock met country, and we both got richer.” Fans, sensing the void, have flooded Hagar’s socials with thanks. One viral clip from the golf classic shows him tearing up over a Keith demo tape: “Unreleased track we co-jammed. World needs to hear it someday.”

As Hagar eyes his 78th birthday—and a potential Van Halen tell-all—he’s clear: This reveal honors a pact. “Toby said, ‘If I go first, spill the beans—no sad sacks.’ So here it is: We laughed hard, loved fierce, lived free. That’s the real story.” In a world of fleeting collabs, their bond endures—a toast in every tequila shot, a riff in every sunset. To Sammy and Toby: Brothers in arms, forever.