The Evolving Meaning & Purpose of Music Videos

THE CENTRAL QUESTION

There was a time when a new musical era began with a music video. Michael Jackson's Thriller (1983), directed by John Landis, transformed the format into a cinematic experience, while Missy Elliott's The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) (1997), directed by Hype Williams, redefined hip-hop imagery through fisheye lenses and futuristic styling. Music videos weren't simply promotional tools; they were cultural events, establishing the visual identities that artists would be remembered for.

Today, that relationship is changing. As music discovery becomes increasingly fragmented, the traditional music video is losing some of its former prominence. Yet its potential as a creative medium remains remarkably alive. Perhaps the question is no longer whether the music video is dying, but what it can become when it no longer has to exist.

THE MUSIC VIDEO AS AN ARTIST’S SIGNATURE

Some artists are recognisable before a single note is played. A particular colour, silhouette, visual texture or cinematic language can immediately evoke an entire discography. Music videos have long been instrumental in creating these associations, turning artistic identities into instantly recognisable visual signatures.

Consider Missy Elliott's The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly) (1997), directed by Hype Williams. Its fisheye lens, exaggerated proportions and futuristic styling created an aesthetic that felt entirely its own. Elliott's inflated black suit, designed by June Ambrose, became inseparable from the video. The result was not simply a performance captured on camera, but a radical reimagining of hip-hop imagery. Around the same time, Björk was exploring a different visual territory. In All Is Full of Love (1999), directed by Chris Cunningham, two white robotic figures meet in a sterile, luminous environment. The video merges robotics, sensuality and mechanical movement into an unsettling meditation on intimacy and artificial life. Its sculptural imagery still feels remarkably contemporary.

Then came Lady Gaga's Bad Romance (2009), directed by Francis Lawrence. Between the architectural white sets, surreal beauty looks, exaggerated silhouettes and the now-iconic diamond-encrusted eyes, the video established a visual language that was simultaneously grotesque and glamorous. Fashion was not an accessory to the narrative; it was the narrative. More recently, Rosalía's SAOKO (2022), directed by Valentin Petit, translated her genre-defying approach to music into a kinetic visual world of motorcycles, metallic surfaces and industrial environments.

Each video demonstrates how an artist's identity can extend beyond sound. The visual choices become part of the music itself, shaping how an era is remembered and providing a reference point for everything that follows.

FROM PROMOTION TO WORLD-BUILDING

The strongest music videos do not simply illustrate a song. They construct an environment around it, establishing visual codes that can extend across album artwork, live performances, fashion collaborations and an artist's wider public image.

Take Beyoncé's Formation (2016), directed by Melina Matsoukas. Set against the cultural and architectural landscape of New Orleans, the video moves through Southern Gothic imagery, antebellum references, Black Southern identity and powerful fashion statements. Its flooded police car, plantation house and striking red-and-black styling create a visual language that is inseparable from the song's cultural and political significance. A year later, Beyoncé and Jay-Z's APESHIT (2018), directed by Ricky Saiz, placed the artists inside the Louvre in Paris. The contrast between contemporary Black artists and historically established Western art created an image that operated simultaneously as music promotion, cultural commentary and a fashion statement.

Elsewhere, The Weeknd's Blinding Lights (2019), directed by Anton Tammi, helped establish the red-suited, neon-lit visual identity associated with his After Hours era. Its saturated colours, retro styling and cinematic references extended across multiple videos and performances, turning individual releases into chapters of a larger narrative. Tyler, The Creator took a similarly interconnected approach with CHROMAKOPIA, using a distinctive monochromatic aesthetic, military-inspired styling and recurring visual motifs to establish the identity of his 2024 album era. The music, artwork, promotional imagery and live presentation all belonged to the same visual universe.

These examples reveal a shift in how artists approach releases. A music video can act as a manifesto, establishing the atmosphere and references that other formats subsequently reinterpret. For the creative industry, this makes the music video a particularly interesting meeting point. Directors, creative directors, stylists, photographers, production designers and digital artists are no longer simply helping to promote a track; they are contributing to the construction of an entire artistic world.

WHEN THE FORMAT STARTED TO BREAK

The way audiences encounter music has changed dramatically. Discovery increasingly happens through short-form content, where a song might first reach someone through a dance, a fifteen-second snippet, a behind-the-scenes clip or a fan edit.

The shift is particularly visible in the relationship between choreography and circulation. In the case of Say So by Doja Cat (2020), the dance popularised by TikTok creator Haley Sharpe became a defining part of the song's online identity. The official music video, directed by Hannah Lux Davis, drew on a colourful, retro-futuristic aesthetic, but the song's viral choreography had already become a cultural phenomenon in its own right. Similarly, Paint the Town Red by Doja Cat (2023), directed by Nina McNeely, built a surreal visual universe around the artist's own imagery and iconography. Yet individual moments from the video could circulate independently as short clips, reaction videos and memes, detached from the complete work.

This is the new logic of music discovery: a single gesture, transition, lyric or visual hook can travel much further than the context in which it was originally conceived. A decade ago, YouTube premieres and record-breaking view counts could become cultural events in themselves. Today, music videos on the platform appear to have lost some of that mainstream prominence as audiences distribute their attention across multiple platforms. This doesn't mean every video's audience is shrinking, but the format is no longer an automatic requirement for a successful release. Perhaps its changing status is precisely what makes it interesting: when a video is no longer obligatory, producing one becomes a more deliberate artistic choice.

THE NEW ERA OF VISUAL SPECTACLE

At a time when the music video becomes less and less the dominant way to promote music, it can offer something short-form content rarely has the space to achieve: a fully realised visual experience.

For example, Ariana Grande's No Tears Left to Cry (2018), directed by Dave Meyers, plays with gravity through rotating sets, impossible perspectives and carefully constructed CGI visual effects. Its disorienting architecture helped establish the visual identity of her Sweetener era. In God Is a Woman (2018), also directed by Meyers, cosmic imagery, references to Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam and body painting by Alexa Meade turn the video into a surreal celebration of femininity and empowerment. The massive production reportedly involved 45 different sets.

Other directors have approached spectacle through radically different techniques. Michel Gondry's Come Into My World (2002) used precise choreography and camera movement to multiply Kylie Minogue across a Parisian street. Jonathan Glazer's Virtual Insanity (1996) relied on practical set illusions, while more recently, A$AP Rocky's Tailor Swif (2024), directed by Vania Heymann and Gal Muggia, embraced surrealism, absurdist imagery and elaborate visual effects.

Across these works, CGI, 3D, motion design, practical effects, set design, choreography and costume become tools for constructing worlds that would otherwise be impossible. The music video remains a creative laboratory — one where commercial briefs can produce genuinely experimental and breath-taking images.

KPOP : THE RISING ECOSYSTEM

K-pop demonstrates that the music video is far from obsolete. For many groups, it remains central to the comeback of artists after a period of hiatus.

The clearest example of the format's enduring scale is none other than the girl group BLACKPINK. Their videos combine elaborate sets, fashion-led styling, choreography and digital effects into instantly recognisable visual spectacles. Released in 2018, DDU-DU DDU-DU became the group's signature breakthrough, with approximately 2.4 billion YouTube views today. Kill This Love (2019), with its monumental sets and theatrical styling, has accumulated approximately 2.25 billion views. Its production budget has been reported at around US$1.4 million, illustrating the scale of investment that can go into a major K-pop video. Their How You Like That (2020) further demonstrates the model: its official music video has approximately 1.38 billion views, while the separate dance performance video has surpassed 2 billion.

The visual experience doesn't end with the official video; it starts and continues with concept photographs, teasers, performance videos, dance practices and behind-the-scenes content, with fan participation becoming an additional format in its own right. Rather than competing with short-form content, the music video anchors a wider visual ecosystem.

THE MUSIC VIDEO IS NOT DEAD, IT JUST BECAME SOMETHING ELSE

Perhaps the music video has not disappeared so much as dispersed across an expanding ecosystem of images. Its visual language now travels through vertical edits, visualizers, live performances, album artwork, fashion campaigns, social-media content and fan-made interpretations. An image originally conceived for a three-minute video can acquire a second life as a GIF, a meme, a reference in a fashion editorial or a fragment circulating independently of the song. The audience is no longer simply watching the work; it is participating in its distribution, reinterpretation and cultural afterlife.

This creates a new challenge for artists and their creative teams. A coherent visual identity must now operate across formats with radically different requirements, from the cinematic scale of a full-length video to the immediacy of a mobile screen. The most interesting approach may not be to choose between the two. Short-form content can introduce an audience to an artist's world, while a full-length music video offers the opportunity to explore it in greater depth. One captures a moment; the other can give the meaning.