MTV: Thank you and Good Night

Video killed the radio star.
Reality TV crushed the video star.
The internet devoured the reality star.
Social media consumed the internet star.
It will be interesting to see what comes next to flatten social media. Something will, eventually. Something always does.

I do not remember the first time I heard about MTV, but I remember vividly the first time I saw it. My parents were not fans of the idea. A television channel devoted entirely to music struck them as excessive, maybe even corrupting, so our house was late to the party. MTV existed somewhere out there in the cultural ether, but not in our living room.

That changed when I visited my cousin.

I was still a kid, sitting on the floor in front of her television, when AC/DC’s “Back in Black” came on. Loud. Dark. Electric. The kind of thing that felt slightly forbidden simply because it was so cool. It was not just a song. It was an experience. The music, the visuals, the attitude all fused into something bigger than what radio could ever deliver. I did not yet have the language for it, but I was witnessing a shift.

For Generation X, MTV became less a channel and more a companion. From middle school through college, it was always on. It played in the background during homework, summer afternoons, late-night hangouts, and weekend mornings. It was cultural wallpaper, but wallpaper that shaped taste, identity, and aspiration. When a band premiered a new video, it was an event. Friends gathered around the television, volume turned up, eyes locked on the screen. These were shared moments, collective rituals in an era before on-demand culture atomized everything.

MTV officially launched on August 1, 1981, opening with The Buggles’ now-mythic “Video Killed the Radio Star.” In retrospect, it feels prophetic, almost smug in its self-awareness. But at the time, the launch barely registered. MTV did not arrive with fireworks. It grew slowly, quietly, then all at once. By 1992, it was available in nearly 100 million households and had become one of the most influential cultural forces on the planet.

Music videos were no longer promotional extras. They were essential. Artists were not just heard, they were seen. Image mattered. Style mattered. Narrative mattered. MTV did not just reflect youth culture. It actively shaped it. Fashion trends, slang, politics, even attitudes toward race and gender were filtered through the channel’s rotation. For Gen X, MTV was not background noise. It was formative.

Then came the shift.

In 1992, The Real World premiered, and something fundamental changed. The show was cheap to produce, endlessly flexible, and oddly addictive. It delivered drama without scripts, personalities without musicians, and storylines that unfolded week to week. It was still marketed as “Music Television,” but music was no longer the point. Reality TV had found a home, and it quickly realized it did not need guitars or drum kits to thrive.

By the early 2000s, the transformation was complete. Shows like The Osbournes and later Jersey Shore dominated the channel. Music videos were pushed further and further to the margins, relegated to late nights or niche blocks. The channel that once defined the sound and look of a generation had become something else entirely. Music Television, in name only.

Ironically, this pivot may have saved MTV for a while, but it also sealed its long-term irrelevance. As reality TV exploded across cable networks, MTV lost its uniqueness. It was no longer the tastemaker. It was just another channel chasing ratings.

Then the internet arrived with teeth.

By 2006, YouTube was exploding. Facebook and Twitter were still young, clumsy, and optimistic. Suddenly, artists did not need MTV to be seen. Anyone could upload a video. Anyone could go viral. Discovery became decentralized. Control slipped away from gatekeepers and into algorithms and users. MTV, once the ultimate curator, was now redundant.

For Gen X and many Millennials, MTV remained a nostalgic touchstone, a symbol of adolescence and shared culture. For Gen Z, it barely existed. They did not miss it because they never needed it. Music lived on YouTube, then Spotify, then TikTok. Shorter. Faster. Constant. The idea of waiting for a video premiere at a specific time felt archaic.

As platforms multiplied, attention fractured. The internet did not just replace MTV. It devoured it. And then social media devoured the internet.

Social media flattened everything. Musicians became content creators. Content creators became brands. Brands became personalities. The distinction between artist, influencer, and advertiser blurred until it barely mattered. Everyone was visible. Everyone was competing. The feed never ended.

And yet, even social media feels tired now.

Algorithms feel stale. Feeds feel repetitive. Authenticity is monetized, packaged, and sold back to us. The platforms that once promised connection now thrive on outrage, anxiety, and endless performance. We are all broadcasting, but fewer people are truly watching.

Which brings us back to the question.

What kills social media?

“The music never stopped, only the signal did.”

History suggests it will not be a dramatic collapse. No explosion. No clear villain. Just a slow erosion. Something quieter, cheaper, more convenient will come along. Something that feels insignificant at first. MTV did not die the day it stopped playing music videos. Radio did not die when videos appeared. Each medium lingers, diminished but alive, a shadow of its former power.

And then, eventually, it stops mattering.

There is something almost comforting in that cycle. No platform is permanent. No cultural monopoly lasts forever. The stars rise, burn brightly, and fade. What replaces social media may already exist, barely noticed, just as MTV once was. A new way to connect, or escape, or consume, waiting for its moment.

On August 1, 1981, MTV launched with “Video Killed the Radio Star,” a song that unintentionally documented the moment it helped create. Decades later, when MTV finally faded into irrelevance, it did so not with outrage or ceremony, but with a shrug. Much the way it began.

Less than a whimper.

And somewhere, right now, the next star is being born, unaware of what will eventually kill it.

I’ll end with a quote often attributed to The Grateful Dead, but not really one of their lyrics: The music never stopped, only the signal did.

MTV, thank you. Good night.

Fade to black.