Carlos Santana performs at Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View, Calif. on June 21, 2022. Original photo: Derek Tobias/STAFF.

I got a call this week to be on dead rock star alert.

I’m not sure how it happened, but I’ve become go-to rock star obituary guy. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m the only one at RIFF who remembers some of these old people when they weren’t totally old and/or dead.

I turn down some of these requests because they don’t pay me to be the old guy who knows about old guys because he’s the old guy. Makes me feel … old.

Nevertheless … as 58-year-old James Hetfield snarled, time marches on.

I got the message Tuesday night after Carlos Santana hit the floor during a show. He was rushed to the hospital after passing out from heat exhaustion during a show at the Pine Knob Music Theatre, about 40 miles north of Detroit.

My first thought was “He’s fine. He’s not that old. He just did that thing (“Smooth”) with the dude (Rob Thomas) from that really plain band (Matchbox Twenty) and won a truckload of Grammys, and he looked pretty spry in the video, so …”

Uh … that was in 1999. The Grammys were in 2000.

Good God. That was … cross out the 2, move the one, borrow again … a pretty long time ago.

Carlos Santana is about to turn 75. So is Sammy Hagar. Paul McCartney is touring stadiums at 80. Old rock stars used to mean something weird was happening. They were supposed to overdose, choke on someone’s vomit and die young. Now they’re all grandparents.

By the way, Carlos Santana didn’t die yet, which I appreciated. Not only because his band nearly set the stage on fire the last couple times I saw them (I’m not the biggest fan, but great is great), but because I’ve heard from people who know him that he’s pretty much the best guy on the planet.

Right now, we need as many best guys on the planet as we can get. That, and I was in the middle of a sandwich while watching TV. So …

But it got me thinking about other Bay Area mainstays of my generation. Metallica’s “Kill ‘em All” turns 40 next year. Green Day’s first record came out 32 years ago. I saw Brad Gillis play with Ozzy at Oakland Arena 41 years ago. I saw Testament singer Chuck Billy just celebrated his 60th birthday.

What in the wide, wide world of sports is going on here?

I just reviewed Journey’s new record I think is called “We Can Still Stand Up and Play For Four Minutes, So … Here” (that’s a lie, it’s called Freedom) and it dawned on me the band formed by Carlos Santana has been around nearly 50 years. And it was formed by guys who quit Santana (the band), which means … jeez. That’s a lot of years.

I admit to frequently getting annoyed when people do the “I can’t believe someone got old” bit. Of course they got old. Rolling Stones now die of old age. Edward Van Halen died, which was supposed to be impossible. We believe our best days were way back when, and things can ever be a good. Which is silly.

It’s actually heartening. Rock and roll hasn’t died (Eat it, Pete Townshend) and musicians don’t have to get all Lawrence-Welk-ish if they still want to play as they teeter on death. It gives us lesser musicians hope – false hope, but some days you take whatever hope you can scrape together.

I knocked around some music with my buddies the other night, which we do when life (kids, work, muscle cramps) doesn’t get in the way; so not often enough. At one point, I looked at my friend Rick, while he was playing loudly between songs while the rest of us were trying to talk and realized: “Holy hell, Rick’s been irritating the shit out of me by doing this at band practice for 38 years now.”

But then I immediately thought: “Rick’s been irritating me at band practice for 38 years … how awesome is that?”

We later – and I’m not making this up – had a serious conversation concerning ergonomics and playing so you don’t injure yourself. At one point, there was discussion about properly opening your hips to avoid incurring more damage than necessary.

It’s really incredible that once-young rockers are still playing while getting old enough to need concentrated stretching before playing to avoid cramps. I love it.

Rock and roll was once confined to the young. It broke out, survived and flourished. It’s as much a part of the all-ages American fabric as hot dogs, guns and greed. No one could’ve predicted how much better for us rock and roll would end up being than those other things.

Everyone should try to keep playing until roadies have to lug their lifeless carcasses off stage. Maybe later. It’s the most rock and roll thing in the world.

Follow music critic Tony Hicks at Twitter.com/TonyBaloney1967.