I’m outside his building, shivering. I push the buzzer on the ancient talk-box mounted by the door. “One sec,", a quiet voice, enveloped in the ambient hissing of old machines, asks me to wait. Val, true to his word, is punctual. His demeanor is formal, but there’s a faint hint of a grin on his face. I follow him up the stairs to his apartment. The walls are worn out, decorated with pre-war flourishes. It is almost all white with dark wooden floors. Instruments and equipment take up one half of the living room. A small sitting area with library books scattered across it occupies the other. Along the wall in the middle of the room is a worn out turntable. Over steaming cups of black coffee, he talks about how he’s been trying to balance his college studies with finishing the EP. He’s calm but slightly anxious at the challenge. His behavior belies him. “Do you mind?” he asks gently before lighting the first of a half dozen Marlborough Lights he’ll smoke in our time together. We now sit in the smoky din of his living room listening to the record. Distorted pianos, ghostly voices, and metallic percussion fill the room: a witch’s brew. None of this is accidental. Born in France, Val grew up with classical piano training in New York City. He received formal lessons, studied in conservatories and had all the makings of a rising concerto performer. When he moved to Montreal in the fall of 2009, Val lost sight of the instrument that defined his adolescence. The regularity of the practice schedule that organized his life was fastidiously turned inside out. It was around this time that he began experimenting with electronic music. Eighteen months later, he is about to release his first EP, Anytime Will Do, on Clown & Sunset. Val still carries himself with a trace of the famous severity that defined his classical fore-bearers. He’s dressed darkly in jeans and a faded sweater. His shoulder-length black hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. He smokes constantly.