Dwain Northey (Gen X)

I remember when MTV actually meant Music Television, which feels like one of those phrases archaeologists will one day translate the way we translate ancient runes—apparently this channel once played songs… with pictures?

I was there at the beginning, a Gen X witness to the original sin and original glory: “Video Killed the Radio Star.” The Buggles flickered onto the screen, all jittery futurism and wide-eyed prophecy, and we collectively thought, Well, that’s it. The future has arrived. The irony, of course, would take a few decades to fully ripen, because it turns out the video didn’t kill the radio star—reality television killed the video.

Back then, MTV was church. You didn’t choose what you watched; you waited. You sat through videos you didn’t like because the one you loved might come on next. It taught us patience, musical literacy, and the fine art of judging people entirely by their hair. We learned geography from accents, sociology from fashion, and rebellion from anyone wearing leather indoors. If you wanted to know what cool looked like, MTV told you. Loudly. Repeatedly. With fog machines.

VJs were our trusted guides—part DJ, part older sibling, part impossibly cool alien. They spoke directly to us, live, unscripted, occasionally wrong. It felt human. Dangerous. Like someone might say something they weren’t supposed to. That alone made it revolutionary.

And then… slowly… quietly… the videos started slipping away.

At first it was fine. A show here, a countdown there. Real World arrived, and we said, “Okay, but surely this is temporary.” Then came more “reality.” And more. And somehow fewer guitars. Fewer drummers. Fewer videos altogether. Music Television began showing everything except music, like a restaurant that slowly stopped serving food but insisted it was still a diner because there were pictures of pancakes on the wall.

By the time MTV officially closed its doors, it felt less like a tragedy and more like a formality. Music television didn’t die yesterday—it died years ago, somewhere between the 47th season of a reality show about nothing and the moment we realized an entire afternoon could pass without a single song being played.

What finally killed MTV wasn’t technology or YouTube or TikTok. It was the decision to stop trusting music to hold our attention. The belief that songs weren’t enough. That art needed drama, confessionals, and manufactured conflict to matter.

And yet here we are, Gen Xers, still remembering when three minutes could change your life. When a video could make you feel seen, understood, or at least slightly cooler by association. We didn’t just watch MTV—we grew up inside it.

So yes, MTV has closed its doors. But let’s be honest: the channel left the building a long time ago. What remains is the memory of a time when music didn’t need an algorithm, when discovery was accidental, and when a bunch of strange little videos taught us how big the world really was.

Video didn’t kill the radio star.

MTV killed MTV.

And Gen X?

We’re still humming the soundtrack. 🎶