Dar es Salaam — THERE was a time, dear reader, when turning on the television and seeing the neon MTV logo flicker in the corner of the screen felt like receiving a personal emotional telegram from someone who understood you better than your own diary.
If you were heartbroken, MTV had a ballad waiting to console you. If you were excited, they blasted something loud enough for your neighbours to wonder whether you were hosting a rave.
And if you were confused, as teenagers universally tend to be, MTV had boybands in matching trousers trained specifically to sing your bewilderment back to you.
But before we get too nostalgic, let us remind ourselves what MTV actually was, or rather, what it meant.
Keep up with the latest headlines on WhatsApp | LinkedIn
MTV, short for Music Television, launched in the United States in 1981 as the world's first 24-hour music video channel.
It didn't merely play music videos; it rewired global youth culture. It invented what it meant to be a modern music star.
It birthed fashion trends, broke cultural ceilings, introduced new genres, crowned icons and decided globally what counted as cool, daring, or revolutionary.
Madonna didn't simply become famous; she became a template. Michael Jackson didn't merely release videos; he released cultural earthquakes.
MTV became the compass held by millions of young people, the vibrant intersection where music, fashion, rebellion, attitude and aspiration met in one thrilling stream.
And now, over forty years later, MTV is unplugging its final music-video channels.
MTV Music, MTV 80s, MTV 90s, MTV Live, are all sliding quietly into retirement by the end of 2025.
No dramatic farewell, no emotional VJ reunion, not even a final "Stay tuned!" delivered with the old theatrical flourish.
The screens will simply turn black, like a Bongo movie that ends mid-scene because the producer suddenly realised the budget had vanished.
The explanation for this quiet funeral is painfully simple: nobody watches music videos on television anymore.
Audiences emigrated long ago to YouTube's infinite tunnels, TikTok's frantic dance laboratories and Instagram's micro-celebrity factories.
MTV may have created the culture, but streaming platforms inherited the throne and upgraded the software.
It is tragically poetic: the pioneer of the digital age has been outlived by the digital age itself.
And yet, while the West is writing eulogies for MTV, Tanzania is still polishing formats that expired around the time camcorders were fashionable.
The world is laying MTV to rest and we are still asking, "Hivi ile countdown ya Top Ten inaonyeshwa saa ngapi vile?"
If MTV's demise teaches one lesson, it is this: change does not knock politely. It marches in, shifts your furniture and demands you evolve.
But where Tanzania hesitated, one artist quietly, strategically, almost prophetically stepped into the future long before the rest of us accepted that the ground beneath music had shifted.
And that artist is none other than Naseeb Abdul aka Diamond Platinumz.
Long before Tanzanian creatives began whispering the words "metadata," "algorithm," or "digital presence," Diamond had already built an empire around them.
He understood with unnerving clarity that music was no longer a television event but a digital expedition.
He saw earlier than most that visibility was becoming the domain of algorithms, not announcers.
Where many were still waiting for radio presenters to pick their singles, Diamond was busy learning how to make YouTube pick him.
His career is not a coincidence of luck. It is the result of someone who embraced a massive shift while others were still debating whether streaming was a fad.
Diamond realised early that audiences had migrated to platforms where the only passport required was relevance, consistency and strategy.
And he adapted with remarkable discipline.
Today he remains, quite comfortably, Tanzania's most global musical export.
That is not simply because he sings well. Thousands sing well. It is because he built an entire digital infrastructure around his talent.
His YouTube channel is one of Africa's most watched. His TikTok challenges trend without begging. His Instagram is curated like a digital magazine.
His release schedules are calculated with almost mathematical precision.
His metadata is accurate, his branding immaculate, his digital presence relentless and his reach now stretches confidently across the continent.
Even his mother, Mama Dangote, recently joked with the pride only a Tanzanian mother can muster that her son hardly needs to perform at home anymore.
Why? Because international bookings and online revenue streams keep his world spinning quite comfortably.
Many misunderstood her remark, interpreting it as snobbery. But in truth, she was revealing something far more profound.
Her son has outgrown the limitations of traditional structures, not by accident, but by design.
He built new systems, new audiences, new income streams and a new model of what a modern African artist can be.
If MTV is the cautionary tale of a giant that failed to evolve, then Diamond Platinumz is Tanzania's compelling case study of an artist who refused to remain trapped in yesterday's blueprint.
His trajectory is not merely inspirational; it is a national warning label disguised as success.
Adapt, or be swept aside. Innovate, or vanish into the archive. Diamond chose evolution and Tanzania's music industry must now ask itself whether it is ready to do the same.
Meanwhile, back in the broader Tanzanian music industry, things remain delightfully chaotic and worryingly outdated.
Yes, most of our artists use YouTube, but often as a dumping site. Upload the video and hope the algorithm wakes up in a generous mood.
Yes, we dance on TikTok, but usually without a strategy beyond hoping a celebrity reposts the clip.
Yes, streaming exists, but to many, "Spotify" still sounds like a new Italian dessert.
Mention publishing rights or digital royalties in some studios and watch the room fall silent like a church at communion.
All this, while Nigeria claims Grammys, South Africa exports Amapiano like a national resource.
Kenya builds digital distribution companies and Uganda perfects live-performance monetisation.
Tanzania has the talent, oceans of it, but lacks the modern digital machinery that can carry that talent beyond Kijitonyama to Lagos, Johannesburg, London, São Paulo and Seoul.
Our problem is not creativity. Our problem is infrastructure. Or more precisely, our stubborn refusal to update it.
Kodak once invented the digital camera, then refused to embrace it.
They feared it would kill film. Instead, film died, Kodak died and digital photography became a global religion.
MTV invented the musicvideo era, then failed to follow the era it created. And now, they too are on the death bed.
If Tanzania does not adapt, Bongo Flava may become the third chapter in that tragic trilogy.
Tanzanian musicians have developed a wonderfully chaotic relationship with technology.
But artists' websites lie abandoned because "Instagram inatosha."
Song titles are uploaded misspelled and the algorithm, an unforgiving librarian, buries them in digital Siberia.
Sign up for free AllAfrica Newsletters
Get the latest in African news delivered straight to your inbox
Producers still hand out tracks on USB sticks, as if piracy went on vacation.
Publicists send ALL CAPS press releases to newspapers that last commanded national attention sometime during the Magufuli era.
Music awards, in 2025, still insist on SMS voting, a system so archaic it should qualify for pension!
We laugh because it is funny, yes. But beneath the laughter is a shrill alarm.
While we rehearse nostalgia, the rest of the continent rehearses global expansion.
While we debate whether TikTok matters, others negotiate global distribution contracts.
While we lose USB sticks, the rest of the world gains streams. While we cling to tradition, the world moves on.
And there, right in the middle of all this, stands Diamond, not just as an artist, but as evidence of what Tanzanian music could become if it embraced the digital age with seriousness rather than suspicion.
One can only hope that one day he sheds the trademark secrecy of successful artists and decides to hold a masterclass for Tanzanian musicians.
That is an honest, detailed, unfiltered lecture on how to survive and thrive in the digital tide he learned to surf years ago.
Because if more artists understood what he understands, Tanzania's music industry would shift from potential to power.
Why? Because if a global titan like MTV can fall after forty-four years, then Bongo Flava cannot assume immunity. The world will not slow down for us.
Algorithms will not wait. Audiences will not remain loyal out of nostalgia. Platforms are moving.
Technology is moving. Music consumption has transformed from a scheduled TV ritual into an algorithmic journey.
The message for Tanzania is clear: innovate now or watch the global wave wash past us.
