I saw that Miley Cyrus covered a Metallica song and, fueled by pure metalhead rage, stormed to my computer ready to hate it. But the moment the first notes of “Nothing Else Matters” hit—backed by Elton John on piano, Yo‑Yo Ma on cello, Robert Trujillo on bass, and Chad Smith on drums—I froze. Then Miley’s voice came in, raw and haunting, and suddenly I wasn’t mad anymore—I was floored. It wasn’t just good. It was powerful, emotional, and weirdly perfect. In all my years loving metal, I never thought I’d say this, but she nailed it. Absolutely nailed it…..

When Miley Cyrus Made Me Eat My Metalhead Words

I’ve spent most of my life worshiping at the altar of distortion. My heroes have names like Hetfield, Hammett, and Ulrich. My playlists are full of galloping riffs, double-kick drums, and that unmistakable crunch that only metal can deliver. So when I heard that Miley Cyrus—yes, that Miley Cyrus—had covered Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters,” my gut reaction was pure, unfiltered outrage.

I didn’t even hesitate. Fueled by the righteous fury that only a lifelong metalhead can summon, I stomped to my computer, ready to hate-listen with all the venom in my heart. This was blasphemy, I thought. A pop star touching one of the most sacred tracks in the metal canon? Absolutely not. Metallica’s Black Album had been my soundtrack through adolescence—the record that made me feel seen, loud, and invincible. “Nothing Else Matters” wasn’t just a ballad; it was the heart of that record, the rare moment when Metallica let down their guard and revealed their humanity. It was untouchable.

But then I hit play.

The first few notes drifted through my speakers—familiar, yes, but somehow different. The tone was softer, the space wider. Elton John was on piano, and his gentle phrasing wrapped the song in a kind of reverence I hadn’t expected. Then came Yo-Yo Ma’s cello, low and mournful, sliding beneath the melody like a shadow. Robert Trujillo’s bass pulsed steadily, grounded but tender, while Chad Smith’s drums gave it the slow heartbeat of something alive.

And then Miley’s voice entered.

It wasn’t the bubblegum brightness of “Party in the U.S.A.” or the glossy rebellion of “Wrecking Ball.” Her voice was weathered—smoky, rough around the edges, but completely in control. The first line, “So close, no matter how far…” hit me like a punch I didn’t see coming. There was pain in it, yes, but also respect. She wasn’t imitating Hetfield; she was interpreting him. The emotion that poured out wasn’t performative—it was raw, honest, and human.

For a few seconds, I just sat there, frozen. The fury that had propelled me to my keyboard melted into something else entirely: awe.

By the time she reached the chorus, I had forgotten that I was supposed to hate it. I wasn’t thinking about genre or authenticity or “metal cred.” I was just feeling it. Every note, every breath, carried the weight of someone who had lived through the same kind of heartbreak and solitude that the song captures so perfectly. It was haunting, vulnerable, and beautiful.

I’ve heard hundreds of covers in my life—most of them forgettable, a few great—but this one did something rare: it made me rethink the song itself. Hearing Miley’s version reminded me what “Nothing Else Matters” was always about. Beneath the power chords and the arena-rock production, it’s a song about trust, love, and the courage to be open. When Metallica first released it, some fans accused them of going soft. But the truth is, it was one of their most metal moments—not because of the distortion, but because of the honesty. It takes guts to be that exposed. And Miley got that. She understood it at a bone-deep level.

What struck me most was how the collaboration itself felt symbolic. Elton John on piano—a legend from a different world entirely. Yo-Yo Ma, the classical virtuoso whose cello has graced everything from Bach to film scores. Chad Smith, the rock powerhouse from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And then Miley, the chameleon pop star who has spent her whole career breaking and remaking her image. Somehow, this unlikely lineup didn’t dilute the song—it elevated it. It was as if the barriers between genres dissolved, leaving only the music and the emotion it carried.

As I listened, I realized something uncomfortable: maybe I had been the closed-minded one. Metal has always prided itself on rebellion, on pushing boundaries, on refusing to conform. Yet there I was, gatekeeping, convinced that only a certain kind of voice, a certain kind of aesthetic, could do justice to one of its anthems. But here was Miley Cyrus—someone from outside my musical tribe—singing it like she’d lived every line. That’s not selling out. That’s art doing what it’s supposed to do: connecting across boundaries, finding common ground in shared emotion.

When the final notes faded, I just sat there in silence. My anger was gone, replaced by admiration. I thought about how easy it is to dismiss artists because of the boxes we put them in. Pop star. Rock legend. Classical virtuoso. Metal god. But music doesn’t care about labels. It never has. “Nothing Else Matters” was proof of that when Metallica first recorded it, and this cover just reaffirmed it.

So yeah, I’ll admit it: Miley Cyrus nailed it. Absolutely nailed it. Her voice carried the ache of experience, the gravel of truth. She didn’t just cover Metallica—she understood them. And in doing so, she reminded me why I fell in love with this music in the first place. Because beneath all the noise and attitude, metal—real metal—is about emotion. It’s about saying, I feel this, and I’m not afraid to show it.

And that’s exactly what she did.

I never thought I’d say this as a die-hard metalhead, but sometimes, it takes a pop star to remind us what metal really means.