Caleb L’Etoile is diving into the abyss with a cinderblock tied to his boots, and “Starling” is the terrifying, glorious splash. This is the goddamn nucleus, the ground-zero manifesto for his new full-length horror anthology in noise-rock form, PS. Overlook the usual three-chord punk ramalama; this is a different kind of monster, one built on tension, noise, and a deeply unsettling vibe that gets under your skin and sets up shop.
Let’s be clear: Caleb L’Etoile is the band. He’s the Virginia-based mad scientist behind this operation—the artist, producer, and multi-instrumentalist who locked himself away and birthed this entire album in a frantic, inspired four-week sprint. And you can feel that manic, DIY energy all over “Starling.” It sounds perfectly imperfect, like a transmission from a collapsing psyche.
So, what does this manifesto sound like? Imagine the abrasive, chaotic ferocity of Daughters and the blown-out intensity of Gilla Band having a bloody fistfight in a haunted garage with the ghost of The Misfits (the Danzig era, obviously) screaming from the corner. That’s the sonic palette here. “Starling” is a track that introduces the album’s tense, noise-driven energy with force.
L’Etoile’s vocal performance is a key weapon here. It’s a narrative delivery steeped in violence and unease, a half-spoken, half-screeched sermon that guides you through this broken and blurry world he’s created. He describes the song as “dark, devil-tinged,” a place where “menace and humanity blur together.” He ain’t kidding. This isn’t a song about horror; it is a horror movie in audio form, a self-contained story that sets the tone for everything that follows on the record.
In a world full of sanitised rock, “Starling” is a welcome, terrifying punch. Caleb L’Etoile has made a noise-rock horror core that gets your head nodding and your pulse racing. This is the sound of Halloween’s darkest, most chaotic corners.