Music videos; we love you, and we need you

I love you, And I need you. Nelly, I love you, I do need you. No matter what I do, all I think about is you. Even when I'm with my boo, boy, you know I'm crazy over you.”

The above words were the ones I used to express my youthful love (and highlight my utter idiocy). The music video for Nelly and Kelly Rowland’s Dilemma was unrelenting. 

Like the Terminator, it couldn’t be bargained with, it couldn’t be reasoned with, it didn’t feel pity, remorse, or fear.

Like the Terminator, it couldn’t be bargained with, it couldn’t be reasoned with, it didn’t feel pity, remorse, or fear, and it absolutely would not stop until I put that single track on a CD and gave it to my high school girlfriend, to “show her how I felt”.

Above: Nelly and Kelly Rowland's Dilemma was an unstoppable juggernaut propping up many a teenage romance.

Of course, she dumped me shortly thereafter. It was painful, but it formed scar tissue that made me who I am today. Besides, I didn’t self-flagellate too much – I was a victim of the times, when music videos were the thing. 

Like Rishi Sunak, I grew up suffering the impoverishing weight of life without Sky. Analogue TV had offered me a curious but unreliable glimpse into the world of music videos. But it all changed with the introduction of Freeview and the early internet into the Starr household. The golden ticket had arrived. 

Like Rishi Sunak, I grew up suffering the impoverishing weight of life without Sky.

Music videos were everything, and now they were on tap. I beamed them into my brain endlessly. Hours spent glued to the television, brain soaking up every frame like a sponge. Alongside films and ads they were my windows into a world of creativity I couldn’t access any other way. And what windows they were. It was a time when, like advertising and brands, music videos were something artists and labels truly invested in. 

Above: Limp Bizkit's Rollin' was hugely expensive but solidified the band's place in the zeitgeist and let them show off.

These films weren’t just promos, they were spectacles. The music industry threw money at them like rice at a wedding. Need proof? Twenty-two of the top 25 most expensive music videos ever made dropped between 1990 and 2005. Literally millions, spent on minutes. 

What happened to the art form that shaped generations of creatives?

Artists used them to define their image, solidify their place in the zeitgeist and, let’s be honest, show off. Like Limp Bizkit's Rollin', which cost $3 million ($4.6 million with inflation). 

Today? Things feel... different. Not just less aliens and helicopter chases, but less everything. But why? What happened to the art form that shaped generations of creatives?

Above: A$AP Rocky's and Childish Gambino have both pushed the creativity of promos in the recent past.

The changing landscape

Like everything else, music videos fell victim to the internet and the democratic access it offered. But, with this ease, came an unfortunate side effect; oversaturation.

Music videos haven’t disappeared, but their role has shifted. They’re not the cultural events they once were. The budgets have been decimated, the narratives flattened (much like in advertising), and the screens they’re viewed on have seriously shrivelled. 

Music videos haven’t disappeared, but their role has shifted. They’re not the cultural events they once were.

This is not to say brilliant creativity doesn’t still live in music videos, it does, such as in A$AP Rocky's Tailor Swif or Childish Gambino's This Is America. But these are the exceptions, not the rule.

And yet, for creatives like me, music videos remain a treasure trove of inspiration. I lean on them constantly. It’s a deep well I subconsciously draw from. And it makes me wonder: if we’re not investing in music videos anymore, what will future creatives lean on? Where will they find their visual grammar? 

Above: Dirty Vegas's Days Go By; "A simple, beautifully told story," says Starr.

The social dilemma

Part of the problem is how we now consume videos. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram have made moving rectangles omnipresent, but they’ve also eroded our attention spans. A three-minute narrative struggles to compete with the dopamine blast of a seven-second dance trend. Besides, why tell a story when you can just loop the hook of your song and let the algorithm do the rest?

For most artists, the music video has become less of an artistic statement and more of a functional tool.

For most artists, the music video has become less of an artistic statement and more of a functional tool. A means to an end, rather than an end in itself.

Artists are also learning to game social media. They don’t use (or perhaps rely) on music videos to act as advertising for them in the way they once did. They’re building followings without big-budget visuals. In a way, they’ve hacked the very concept of the music video. But at what cost?

Above: Fatboy Slim's Weapon of Choice has been an inspiration for other advertising films. 

What we lose when we cut corners

Here’s the thing about great creative work: it’s cumulative. Every innovative idea builds on the foundation laid by the ones that came before it. 

For those of us in creative industries, music videos were an endless source of inspiration. We borrowed from their cinematography, their storytelling, their audacity. And, if we’re honest, we still do. I mean, Fatboy Slim [above] was doing it long before Kenzo or its many imitators.

The deep well of visual brilliance from the 90s and early 2000s continues to shape our work, consciously or not.

The deep well of visual brilliance from the 90s and early 2000s continues to shape our work, consciously or not. You didn't always have to look flash, but you should probably always have an idea, like with Tenacious D's Tribute. 

But what happens when that well runs dry? If today’s music videos lack the same investment— financial, creative, or otherwise, what will future creatives draw from? If all creative work is just a remix, what happens when there’s nothing left worth remixing?