By: Cameron Knight
Los Angeles, CA (The Hollywood Times) 09/30/2026 – “I want my MTV.” For a generation, you didn’t have to explain what that meant.
Growing up, MTV was the babysitter. It was simply on. Music videos played all day, and it was one of the places we went to find out what was cool, what people were wearing, what music mattered and what everyone would be talking about tomorrow. The Video Music Awards were different because you had to be there when they happened. My friends and I would have watch parties in the ’90s, running for snacks during commercial breaks because if you missed the moment, you missed it. There was no streaming it tomorrow, no clip waiting on your phone five minutes later.
I remember Michael Jackson taking over the stage with a 15-minute medley in 1995. Jamiroquai’s “Virtual Insanity” winning Video of the Year in 1997 kicked off what became a lifelong obsession for me. And in 1999, Britney Spears made her VMA debut before *NSYNC took the stage. Those moments felt enormous.
Walking into the VMA after-party at Level 8, I had a question I wanted to ask the people creating culture now. Do you still want your MTV?
“Right Thurr” by Chingy played as guests posed for red carpet photos beneath a giant pink floral arch. Bacardi shots were being poured nearby. DJs, musicians, podcasters, influencers and content creators moved between rooms, while behind a staircase, a performer serenaded a crowd tucked away from the main party. Level 8 itself seemed appropriate for the assignment. One room led to another, each with a different sound and crowd. And everywhere I looked were people doing something MTV once helped artists do: trying to get discovered.
Musician Ricky Rebel was there promoting his new EDM album, Filling the Void, a project he said took two or three years to create. Rebel didn’t just perform it. He wrote, produced, mixed and mastered the record himself. “Because I’m such a control freak, I have to do it myself,” he laughed. But behind the joke was something increasingly familiar among independent artists: technology has given creators more control over their work, while also requiring them to become their own production companies. Rebel said he learned to mix because handing his music to someone else could transform it into something he no longer recognized. “At the end of the day, that’s the only thing that matters when you’re making art,” he said. “Just be happy with it and then release it and then move on.”
When I asked for his favorite VMA memory, he didn’t hesitate. “Madonna, Madonna, Madonna. Period.” He remembered her rolling across the stage in a wedding dress during “Like a Virgin,” and later her 1990 “Vogue” performance. As a kid, Rebel said he was bullied for wearing his Madonna Blond Ambition shirt. “I didn’t give a fuck what they thought,” he said. “I loved her.”
Then I gave him the test. “I want my…” “MTV!” he shouted.
Not everybody got it quite as quickly. Musician and podcaster Javi Mac is currently working on new EDM music while continuing his Kiss and Tell with Javi Mac podcast. When asked about the next level of success, he described it simply: reaching the point where he no longer has to explain who he is. His VMA memories also returned to Madonna, Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. Then I asked him to finish the sentence. “I want my…” “Baby back, baby back, baby back…” He had gone straight to the Chili’s jingle. Eventually, he got there: “I want my MTV.”
That exchange was funny, but it also captured something about the night. The people walking this red carpet are part of an entertainment world that no longer needs one channel to tell them what matters.
Anna Paige Morgan, a content creator who recently moved to Los Angeles, is documenting herself trying one new thing in the city every week for her audience on Instagram and TikTok. Comedian, model and aspiring musician Megan Botnick, known online as MBeco, told me she began seriously pursuing the internet in January 2024 and reached one million followers within a year; now she’s expanding into live event hosting and comedy shows. When I asked Botnick for her favorite VMA moment, she didn’t reach into MTV history at all. “Guess it hasn’t happened yet because I haven’t gone.”
Maybe that is the point. For artists coming up now, MTV is no longer the only doorway into the culture. There are thousands of doors: TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, Twitch, podcasts. A creator can build an audience without waiting for someone at a television network to decide they belong on the screen. But that freedom comes with another challenge: figuring out who you are when everyone has a platform.
That became clear during my conversation with an independent musician named Tine. “I don’t care to be famous,” she told me. “I just want to be impactful.” Tiny, who has been singing since she was five, is preparing to release a new single in October. She talked about rejecting opportunities when the people behind them wanted her to become something that didn’t feel authentic. “I’d rather do this independently for now until I land in the right hands and honor myself,” she said.
Then she gave me the line that stayed with me after the party. “My song is my soul.” She explained that releasing music means allowing strangers to interpret something deeply personal however they choose. “You’re putting your soul out for people to translate it however they want,” she said.
Maybe MTV once made that vulnerability feel larger than life. An artist appeared on the television in your living room and suddenly millions of people were experiencing the same song, image or performance together. That world has changed. Today, those same artists might be musicians, comedians, models, podcasters and content creators all at once, carrying their audiences around in their pockets instead of waiting for MTV to put them in front of one.
But standing inside Level 8, surrounded by people still making music, dressing up, taking chances and hoping that something they create connects with somebody else, the old feeling didn’t seem entirely gone. I went into the night wondering whether “I want my MTV” still meant anything. Maybe what I actually wanted was the feeling behind it, that moment when everyone was watching, when an artist did something you knew people would still be talking about tomorrow.
And somewhere among the red carpet, the DJs, the hidden rooms and a new generation waiting to create its own unforgettable moment, I realized something.
I still want my MTV.
