The Calm Before the Scream

Caleb L’Etoile’s “Starling” is less a song and more an awakening inside a fever dream, the kind where the walls breathe, and the quiet hum turns into a roar. As the opening track and creative nucleus of his upcoming album PS, it drags you straight into the haunted carnival of L’Etoile’s mind, where horror and humor waltz in dim light.

There’s something hypnotic about the way the track builds its own gravity. Guitars slash and hiss like anxious whispers, while the percussion feels unhinged yet precise — chaos with intent. L’Etoile’s vocals don’t simply sing; they lurch, claw, and confess, pulling the listener into a narrative that feels at once violent and strangely human. You can almost smell the October air between the notes, damp leaves, flickering jack-o’-lanterns, and that sweet scent of dread.

Starling captures the essence of DIY horror-punk: raw, imperfect, and alive with energy that refuses to be tamed. It’s not polished; it’s possessed. And that’s its power. What begins as noise becomes story, what feels grotesque turns poetic. This is the track where menace meets melancholy, where Caleb L’Etoile proves that imperfection can be its own kind of beautiful — especially when it howls.