The Best Music Videos Directed by Diane Martel
Diane Martel has directed some well-crafted, incredible videos that illuminate different facets of her artistry, making them compelling and deepening appreciation of her visual voice.
Diane Martel was an American music-video director and choreographer whose work shaped pop, R&B, and hip-hop visuals for more than three decades. Born in New York City in 1962, niece of the legendary Joseph Papp, Martel’s early path involved street art and dance documentary, grounded in the city’s energy. She directed her first hip-hop clips in the early 1990s, establishing a signature that mixed raw urban grit, bold choreography, fearless imagery, and an eye for expressive contrast.
Across genres and decades, Martel’s artistry was rooted in tension: between spectacle and intimacy, provocation and sincerity, performance and story. She could stage audacious visuals—sexually charged, controversial, sometimes surreal—and turn them so that they didn’t look like they were trying too hard. Yet she also did tenderness: childhood memories, soulful ballads, moments of emotional quiet. Her collaborators ranged widely: from hip-hop MCs to R&B stars to pop icons. She wasn’t merely following trends but often setting them—or subverting them—using the music video as a space for identity, power, performance, and sometimes discomfort.
Her death—on September 18, 2025, at 63, after a long battle with breast cancer—is shocking not just because the world has lost a visionary, but because Martel, more than many, always felt present. Her visuals are vivid, memorable; many still feel urgent, still feel charged. It’s jarring to realize that someone who shaped so many iconic, sometimes unsettling, often boundary-pushing cultural moments is gone. She leaves behind bodies of work that continue to ripple in how artists, directors, and audiences think about what a music video can do.
Before we can share our picks for the twenty best videos, here’s a music video, directed by Martel, that’s a personal favorite of ours.
Another one…
And this one for funsies…
Sleep well, Diane Martel.
“All I Need (Razor Sharp Mix)” — Method Man feat. Mary J. Blige
The video for “All I Need,” featuring Method Man and Mary J. Blige, receives mention in retrospective discussions, especially the Razor Sharp Mix. It’s described in a Rolling Stone write-up as combining family drama with scenes of Method Man in more vulnerable, observational contexts—dodging police, performing from a rooftop, and interludes of everyday domestic moments. The imagery evokes turbulence and longing; the rooftop performances provide spatial contrast to the intimate, interior drama. In the video, the juxtaposition of the public and private, of conflict and emotional reflection, aligns very much with what Martel often does, placing personal stories and letting the artist’s presence bleed through dramatic scenes rather than entirely glossed staging.
“Breakdown” — Mariah Carey feat. Bone Thugs-n-Harmony
“Breakdown” is a beautifully cinematic example of Martel’s work in the 1990s. The video moves through settings—a Las Vegas-style casino, cabaret interiors, dramatic lighting—layered with fantasy and realism. Carey is shown in multiple roles; there’s imagery of performance and escape. The mix of showmanship with emotional vulnerability registers strongly: it’s glamorous, theatrical, but not empty. This video reminds you of her roots—her fluency with R&B visuals, narrative, drama, and the slow build of mood.
“Bring the Pain” — Method Man
1994 marked Method Man’s burst into solo mode with Tical, and “Bring the Pain” served notice. Diane Martel directed the video, shooting what feels like grit made visible. She places Method Man in tight spaces, raw walls around him; his voice cuts through low light and heavy shadow. When he raps, the beat throbs like something heard from deep underground. The video doesn’t hide his edges. It shows ragged leather, hands clutching mic stands, beads of sweat, and breathing that rates a note. Between verses, the frame holds still, then jolts as though startled by its own tension. Martel lets the camera drift across concrete floors, over scuffed boots, paint peeling off walls. Those moments anchor you. You sense more than see proximity, strain, and power stored in fists and jaws.
“Brooklyn Zoo” — Ol’ Dirty Bastard
Released in 1995, “Brooklyn Zoo” marked one of the early music video entries in Martel’s hip-hop portfolio. It embodies rugged rawness, capturing ODB’s chaotic energy in close quarters—dim lighting, grainy texture, sharp cuts. The video doesn’t attempt a neat narrative; instead, it pivots around performance, presence, and visceral swagger. Martel gives space to ODB’s unpredictability—his mannerisms, delivery, and moments of improvisation feel unfiltered. What’s striking in viewing now is how Martel uses the tension between control and wildness: ODB dominates, but the camera sometimes lurches, as though trying to keep up. Martel could render an unvarnished attitude as its own aesthetic force—no glamour needed, just voice, atmosphere, and edge.
“Dance with My Father” — Luther Vandross
This video is one of Martel’s more tender, emotionally weighted works. The concept is a kind of homage—when Vandross was hospitalized, the video was made to look back at childhood memories; it features snapshots from his past, his loved ones, and a host of friends and celebrities paying tribute. What’s moving is how Martel alternates archival, personal imagery (photos, family scenes) with present-day moments, giving the clip a gentle pace rather than forcing spectacle. It doesn’t try to dramatize Vandross’s illness; it’s respectful and focuses on love, memory, and continuity. This video showcases her capacity for quiet resonance—a contrast to her more kinetic work—where presence, nostalgia, and community become the frame rather than glamour or conflict.
“Dreamlover” — Mariah Carey
Diane Martel directed its video in upstate New York. They shot in wide open fields, a pond, and a hot air balloon; Carey swims, walks through grass, and plays with her dog, Jack. Martel blends these moments so the visuals feel loose and calm, not over-crafted. The video suits the song’s light beat and Mariah’s playful voice. The sample from Blind Alley lends the track an R&B undercurrent. Carey’s vocals float over warm tones; she doesn’t try to overpower the melody. The video matches that: sunlight filters through leaves, water ripples under her, and heat seems almost tangible. When she climbs into the flowerbed, when she drifts above fields in the balloon, those scenes become memory-like. Martel cuts between Mariah alone and moments with shirtless male dancers. That antithesis highlights her own space within the fantasy. The visuals let longing and joy coexist. The playful side of romance shines through in dancing, in freedom; the quieter parts—swimming, looking out—reiterate what wanting feels like. Mariah doesn’t just dream of love; she inhabits the wanting. Watching the video, you feel summer light and soft wind, you also feel that ache when what you imagine hasn’t arrived.
“Google Me” — Teyana Taylor
Teyana Taylor is stepping into the limelight, asserting her incipient identity while also exploring notions of visibility, exposure, and performance. Martel uses settings that blend studio gloss with digital texture—screens, lighting effects, cutting frames that reflect glamour and presence. The video also includes imagery of binary code (a techno motif), which gestures toward the song’s idea of being “searchable” or discovered (“Go and pull it up… Google me.”) Taylor dances, poses, engages with the camera; Martel gives her space to morph between vulnerability and confidence. It’s not heavily narrative—there are fewer story beats than mood, posture, and visual metaphor. In Martel’s body of work, “Google Me” is an instance where she embraces the early digital age, the idea of online presence, and lets that inform aesthetics (light, lens flares, screens) just as much as the artist’s performance.
“How High” — Method Man & Redman
The “How High” video, from the mid-1990s, pairs Method Man & Redman in a joint outing under Martel’s direction. The clip employs playful visuals, high-energy party scenes, performance interludes, humorous bits, smoke, and costuming that reflect exaggeration as well as the artist’s personality. Martel plays off their chemistry, allowing moments of comic relief against more intense scenes, showing them both as individuals and as collaborators. What gives the video force (beyond the track) is how the visuals mirror the lyrical back-and-forth: the rhythm of editing, the staging of duality and interplay, and occasional visual excess. “How High” leans into her ability to balance swagger and sincerity, as well as fun and grit. It also shows her skill in framing collaboration—not just multiple artists on screen, but letting tension, humor, friendship, and contrast all register visually.
“If I Ain’t Got You” — Alicia Keys
In 2004, Diane Martel directed the video for Alicia Keys’ “If I Ain’t Got You,” setting much of it in Harlem, New York. The storyline interlaces Alicia’s performance at a piano with a subplot involving Method Man as her romantic partner. The spaces—apartment interiors, street exteriors, nighttime lighting—feel lived-in, modest, intimate, yet the video never feels small. Martel captures Alicia’s emotional stakes—loss, longing, love—by giving quiet moments enough room: a lingering shot, a gaze, the way the light falls across Alicia’s face or the piano keys. The performance portions are mixed with small narrative beats that don’t overwhelm, but deepen the feeling that what matters here is the heart, not the spectacle. This video showcases her strength in R&B storytelling, demonstrating how to use visuals to amplify vulnerability, sincerity, and let the song breathe.
“Lapdance” — N.E.R.D.
“Lapdance” stands out among Martel’s more provocative and vivid works. The visuals are sharp with heavy contrast, bold costume choices, suggestive imagery, and performance in edgy, often symbolic spaces. The camera lingers on bodies, movement, posture; tension is built between the musical funk/rock hybrid and visual confrontations of power, gaze, and expectation. Martel doesn’t shy away from what makes people uncomfortable; she uses it to push boundaries, making the viewer aware of marvel and critique. Lapdance” is one of the works that leans most into disruption because not merely performing to entertain, but to provoke, to complicate what viewers expect of hip-hop, sexuality, and performance.
“Like a Boy” — Ciara
Yes—“Like a Boy” is directed by Diane Martel. The video uses black & white imagery, role-reversal, costume and performance to explore double standards in gender roles. It begins with Ciara dressed in a more masculine presentation, confronting her boyfriend (played by Reggie Bush), then moving through choreography where she and dancers embody “male” swagger, dress, and attitude, and then switching to more feminine/cis presentations. There is a clarity to Martel’s direction: the plain backgrounds, stark lighting, and focus on Ciara’s shifts in presence and posture highlight the thematic thrust: what if women had the freedoms men take for granted? It’s stylish but not overly fussy; the choreography and visual metaphor do the heavy lifting. This sits in her catalog as one of her more explicitly socially aware videos, showing conscious narrative choices and feminist framing, balanced with firm performance.
“Mass Appeal” — Gang Starr
“Mass Appeal” arrives from Hard to Earn with a crisp beat by DJ Premier and sharp lyrics from Guru. Diane Martel directs the video, choosing locations that feel lived-in. She shows Guru inside a rundown apartment block, then later in a moving car, and finally on a beach. She captures contrast: dust of the room, the wind off the water, the cold that bites at skin in Far Rockaway, where they shot some scenes. Her camera stays steady during Guru’s verses, letting him move without rush, then shifts pace when the hook hits. Light filters through windows, bars of it sharp and angular across cracked walls. Sound and image sync: the simple melody, the drums, the echo in Guru’s voice—they all feel tangible. The visuals don’t distract; they serve the mood: a critique of a radio world that plays it safe. Martel uses minimal set pieces but composes strong images—roof lines, concrete, horizon, silhouette. The video feels honest. It pulls you into Guru’s line of sight.
“Money, Power & Respect” — The LOX featuring Lil’ Kim & DMX
The music video for “Money, Power & Respect” is a visual distillation of rap’s escalated codes of dominance, luxury, loyalty, and betrayal. Martel places The LOX, DMX, and Lil’ Kim in opulent settings (large homes, leather interiors, suited entourages), while interspersing gritty flashbacks and less polished, harsh-light scenes so the contrast between wealth and strife becomes felt, not just shown. The video pulses with tight editing, swagger-laden posture, camera moves that swing between crisp close-ups and wide panoramas: sometimes claustrophobic, sometimes expansive. Martel gives space for power to feel burdensome, where the artists wear their bling, but they also contort themselves through shadow, reflection, and struggle. She uses her ability to amplify the tension between surface glamour and underlying conflict; it’s not glamour alone, but what the glamour demands and demands of those who bear it.
“My Neck, My Back” — Khia
You knew this was coming. We can’t leave Khia out of this list. Diane Martel directed the official video that spring. The song’s lyrics deliver explicit demands. Khia claims control. She names pleasure without apology. Martel places her in vivid settings: barbecues, pools, small parties, and homes. Guests dance. Men watch. Shades of desire pulse through each scene. Khia raps directly, her voice steady. The video shows her lounging in a bikini, surrounded by bodies, but her presence feels central, not peripheral. One moment, a man paints her toenails. In another, she leans with confidence among people moving around her. Martel cuts from skin to grill, from laughter to stern expression. She uses heat from the sun, damp air by the pool, and movement in the crowd to texture the visuals. Nothing is clean or quiet. The song’s beat is simple and clean. The visual choices add weight.
“Promise” — Ciara
Ciara alone, hooded, sweatpants, walls pressing in. She sings into a mic that seems to float, or at least defy gravity; her silhouette moves in muted light. Then the setting shifts as dancers encircle her, all wearing hoodies, their slow, deliberate shoulder and hand movements against brick or dark backdrops. Martel uses shadow and color sparingly through a warm red spotlight, deep contrast with black shadows, and minimal props. There’s a cabaret-like silhouette scene: Ciara in front of a screen, dancers on scaffolding, creating shapes of shadow and line. Later, she appears with a short brown wig, grounded back in brick and dimness, reciting the bridge; the tone pulls back from performance toward personal confession. Toward the end, red light bathes her and her dancers; then a line forms, simple conga style, moving off-camera as though stepping into a shared space. Nothing in this video feels overburdened. Every piece—costume choice, movement, camera angle—serves the sentiment of yearning, promise, wanting.
“Ride” — Ciara feat. Ludacris
Diane Martel directs the video with a minimal-production aesthetic that emphasizes Ciara’s performance, rather than over-produced sets or heavy narrative. The imagery includes Ciara in a bodysuit, fur coat, near a convertible, and riding a mechanical bull; there are scenes of gymnastic-like dance moves, close-ups of her body, wet T-shirts, and provocatively charged choreography. Martel strips back on clutter: lighting is stark, backgrounds fairly simple; the attention is on Ciara’s movement and presence. Within Martel’s body of work, “Ride” sits as an example of how she allows raw physicality, sexuality, and performance to carry the piece—not merely as a display, but as direct expression. It’s provocative, confident, and unashamed, showing both the vulnerability and power of embodiment. The video drew controversy for its sexual content (even some bans/edits on channels), which accentuates how Martel often designs visuals that challenge norms, but also does so under the artist’s control.
“The Roof (Back in Time)” — Mariah Carey
Co-directed by Mariah Carey and Diane Martel in spring 1998, “The Roof (Back in Time)” is a mood-piece about memory, desire, and sensual melancholy. The video opens with Carey isolated in a limousine, capturing longing through her reflections. Scenes alternate between her preparing in a worn apartment, a rooftop party that erupts into intimacy, and then rain—literal and emotional—washing over her and the people around her as the mood shifts. Martel’s visuals use rain not just as dramatic texture but as a metaphor where moments of love, of closeness, then the loss or the distance those evoke. There’s tenderness in her framing: soft light on skin, movement that lingers, gazes that imply more than a story shows. This is heavily into romantic realism with not just fantasy or an exhibition, but longing as a tangible place, as an ambient space. It stands among her more poetic pieces, where emotion is allowed to sink in rather than being pushed outward.
“Throw Ya Gunz” — Onyx
You would never have guessed Diane Martel’s directorial debut. She filmed Onyx in South Jamaica, Queens. The video starts with people running across a beach. Onyx appears performing on that beach and in a room lit only by harsh lights. Real guns (Tec-9s and Mac-10s) feature in the scenes. Moments with Plexiglas add a visual edge; dancers move around and among Onyx as though framing them, not hiding anything. The video’s sound and sight match in intensity, as the track’s raw energy echoes in the visuals’ lean settings and stark contrasts. Martel pulls no punches: the walls, sand, and darkened rooms feel cold and raw. Sweat, shout, leather—all register in high detail. She cuts between crowd chaos and solo moments, featuring close-ups on members of Onyx, then wide shots of a group chanting. She captures aggression and respect, energy and solidarity. The visuals resist polish. They expose texture—concrete cracks, flash of weapons, voices raised. You see tension in every chassis. The video is a ritual of defiance and greeting to hip-hop culture.
“Touch” — Omarion
The video opens under neon glow and club lights; Omarion notices Danielle Polanco standing near a club’s entrance. He moves through pulsing crowds, streets slick with reflections, until the choreography takes over. Dancers appear, not as backup but as visual counterpoints. Martel stages a flirtation through motion. Omarion and Polanco dance their way down dim city sidewalks, duck into storefronts, slide through doorways; later, they end up in her apartment, the door’s stopper becoming an implicit invitation. The transitions—street to indoor, group dance to solitary glance—build intimacy without relying on lush landscapes or ornate sets. Lighting changes—glowing neon to softer indoor tones—mark temperature shifts: eager anticipation, curiosity, closeness. The choreography is a conversation that steps answer glances; bodies echo rhythm. Martel frames Omarion in both spacious rooms and tight frames, using close-ups on hands, lips, and shoulders, so the physicality of longing becomes almost audible. Nothing is wasted.
“Who’s That Girl?” — Eve
With this video, Eve projects confidence, attitude, and fashion as much as lyrical sharpness. Martel places Eve in urban locales, performance moments, and intercuts dance, swagger, and posturing—she leverages Eve’s strength in delivery and persona rather than weaving a complex narrative. The styling, the pace, and the camera angles serve to amplify Eve’s presence, her voice, and the way she carries herself. There might be less provocation or controversy here compared to “My Neck, My Back,” but it shows a steady mastery, giving a woman MC the visual tools to assert power, style, respect, without needing shock. This video, once again, is part of her trajectory of women rap/R&B videos that assert identity and visibility—she builds momentum in her ability to combine aesthetic polish with street-edge energy.
Thank you for putting this retrospective together. It’s so vital and inspiring, may she rest in peace