Why do I listen every day? One answer: I’m in a club. The club consists of three members. We meet monthly and we listen to rock music. On a Thursday evening I find myself marvelling at Sam Beam of Iron And Wine singing, in his distinct, airy voice: “Killers let go.” A wee dram of red. Listen up to our nine albums in three hours: . . . LOUD . . . The War On Drugs soars, Mogwai crescendos, Randy Newman guffaws, Jen Cloher rolls, Gang of Youths grandstands, Dan Sultan hollers, Roddy Woomble poesies, and The Dream Syndicate garages. Our club shares and sustains.