The Doberman Listening Club
Music • Audio Magazine
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An ode to the présence you might not have asked for—but can’t live without.
Playlist: Chanson Noire
An ode to the présence you might not have asked for—but can’t live without.
-
🎙“Where Else Would I Be”
performed by: Liliane MarotI follow you—not because I must,
but because I see what you miss.
You think it’s habit, I call it grace—
knowing the world could vanish like this.
Where else would I be,
if not pressed to your side?
There’s no elegance in distance,
no strength in the wide.
They say space is polite—
but who taught them that lie?
(beat)
If you wanted space,
you should’ve gotten a cat.
A study in patience, miscommunication, and the quiet triumph of Doberman judgment.
-
🎼 Title: “And Still She Stood”
by: Clotilde MarchandYou counted to three,
and three turned to five.
Repeated commands
like bees in a hive.
“Sit, madame, sit”—
you begged with a smile,
then barked like a sergeant
Who’s lost all his style?
—
You whispered, then yelled,
then bribed with a snack.
She blinked, unimpressed,
and turned her sleek back.
A queen in repose,
immune to your plot—
your volume went up,
and still she stared back.
—
You thought you were clear,
that tone equals rule.
But Dobermans don’t
obey a fool.
Not when the energy’s
wrinkled and slack—
you train your voice, dear,
then she’ll sit back.
—
You wanted a soldier
who jumps at each shout.
But you bought a diplomat
with well-trained doubt.
She’s reading the room,
not jumping on cue—
perhaps the one
who needs training…
is you.
Playlist: Lounge Jazz
A velvet-collared croon about Doberman charm, chaos, and the fine print beneath the shine.
-
🎵 Title: “Didn’t Read the Fine Print”
Perfomed by: Laurent Varnay
——
She had that look—like midnight wanted her back,
Eyes like a dare, a stride that cracked the track.
You saw her once on someone’s page,
Pinned the photo, skipped the book.
You liked the shine, you loved the fear,
The power wrapped in sharp veneer.
A reel, a clip, a filtered life—
Then home she came—too much, too alive.
And you thought you’d be Karl Friedrich Louis…
Now you’re just sweeping up the ruins.
⸻
[Chorus]
You didn’t read the fine print, love,
Just signed your name in haste.
Now there’s velvet on your carpet,
And wild behind her face.
No pause, no plan, no blueprint—
Just “isn’t she divine?”
You bought the frame without the painting,
Now the canvas draws the line.
⸻
She’s chewing through your perfect days,
She’s not impressed by praise.
Those tips you heard in passing words—
They vanish in her gaze.
She’s poetry with teeth and muscle,
She’s ritual, not trend.
You thought she’d pose in golden light,
But she came to comprehend.
⸻
[Chorus]
You didn’t read the fine print, love,
You wanted something grand.
But she’s no costume, no quick fix—
She came to teach, not blend.
No pause, no plan, no blueprint—
Just “look how sleek, how fast…”
Now she’s pulling on the leash of truth,
And you’re learning, at last.
⸻
This isn’t wrong, this isn’t cruel,
But beauty makes a ruthless school.
She holds the mirror up to you—
And grace will come, if you push through.
⸻
You didn’t read the fine print, love,
But now you turn each line.
She’s not the dog you thought you wanted—
She’s the one that changed your spine.
No pause, no plan, no shortcut—
Just time, and sweat, and ache.
But if you stay, and start to listen—
She’ll teach you what it takes.
A reverent ballad for the Doberman who listens beyond words—and catches the truth before you can name it.
-
🎼 Title: “Ears Like Churches”
Performed by: Miles Decourcy
——-
A song about the sacred act of listening, and the creature who hears your truth before you do.
⸻
[Verse 1]
She don’t flinch at thunder—she tunes to the breeze,
Knows if your pulse stumbles or your memory flees.
Not much for fetch, won’t beg or plead—
But she knows when you want love… and what you need.
⸻
[Verse 2]
You lit the lamp, she stayed in the dark,
Where your breath betrays what leaves no mark.
A soft exhale, a shifted weight—
She reads the pages you don’t translate.
⸻
[Chorus]
Ears like churches—quiet and grand.
She hears the sermon no one planned.
Each beat, each hush, each silent shove—
She knows if you fear the weight of the earth or love.
⸻
[Verse 3]
You once were certain—then you met her gaze,
Now you walk slower through your noisy days.
You used to talk, now you just stand—
She’s already holding your trembling hand.
⸻
There’s no command for what she gives,
No trick or task—just how she lives.
A bell that rings for those who stay—
To hear their own heart give them away.
⸻
[Final Chorus]
Ears like churches—faithful, wise.
They echo long after the moment dies.
She won’t explain, won’t chase or bark—
But she heard you cracking in the dark.
Playlist: Old Hollywood
A vintage duet for the Doberman who inserts himself elegantly, yet always lands between you—and your last illusion.
-
🎼 Title: “Third Wheeling”
Performed by: Jules Baptiste & Renée DuBois
⸻
He stretches like Sinatra, takes up the whole bed,
Tail in my ribs, his nose by your head.
You blink at me, he gives a sigh—
Oh sure, I’m the guest in my own goodbye!
⸻
Last night I reached for you, but met a paw,
He grunted, turned, I whispered “¡Ay, caramba!”
You call it cute—he calls it fate.
He’s not possessive… just won’t negotiate.
⸻
🎵 (He’s the velvet sovereign… in a four-pawed tux.)
(We pay the rent—) he just shrugs.
(My hand in yours? He’ll make a scene—)
With doe eyes sharp and a gait pristine.
He’ll share your couch, your chair, your steak—
But he alone picks who gets the cake.
⸻
Remember the sofa? You sat—he stared.
I perched on the arm. “Don’t mind me,” I declared.
Dinner for two? Oh, make that three.
And guess who gets the napkin—not me.
⸻
He sighs when I leave, throws shade when I dance,
Gives you his paw, gives me no chance.
You think he’s loyal, I think he’s slick—
One paw on your lap, and I’m out quick.
⸻
🎵 (He’s the velvet sovereign… with a bedtime clause.)
(We pay the rent—) he rewrote the laws.
(We try to cuddle? He lands mid-sprawl—)
The royal wall that outranks us all.
He’ll share your smile, your lap, your fate—
But he alone curates your soulmate.
⸻
I thought you liked dogs?
: I do. But not ones who hog the plotline.
: He’s refined.
: He’s ridiculous.
And somehow… we’re the ones adjusting pillows.
⸻
🎵 He’s the velvet sovereign… with impeccable taste,
Our romance now has less waist-to-waist.
But truth be told—we can’t complain,
He guards your dreams like royal terrain.
He picked his throne, our hearts, this place…
The dog who runs our whole damn space.
Playlist: Modern Muse
A graphic interlude for the Doberman and her owner, who observes in silence, yet always breaks the frame, before you notice it was staged.
-
🎼 Title: “Lost in Thought”
ADWRecords
⸻
Lost in Thought
Still frame.
Straight lines.
Tucked shirt. No crimes.
Just a woman with her dog
and a bubble on the verge of
viol3nce.
⸻
I don’t blink for show
I blink to reload
They say I’m somewhere else—
I say: I’m just not yours to hold.
My Dobie sees it first
The twitch behind the purse
The breath before the word
He hears what goes unheard.
And me?
I just chew.
⸻
They call it lost in thought—
But thoughts like these cut glass.
They think I’m far away—
I’m three steps ahead,
Just letting them pass.
⸻
POP.
Glass cracks.
Tempo snaps.
Mind like a maze
Heels in attack.
Gold frame shaking
Logic bent back.
Lost?
Not a chance.
I’m just
Two thoughts deep
And one breath sharp.
⸻
Tap-tap. Signal.
Red leash. Minimal.
Eyes sync. Criminal.
Tone flips. Subliminal.
Bubblegum oracle
Wrapped in silk strategy
Muse with a mouth
And a dog full of gravity.
No bark. Just look.
No book. Just read.
I’m not lost in thought—
I’m planting seeds.
⸻
Silence isn’t absence.
It’s precision…
with rhythm.
Heels fade.
Dog stays.
And that frame?
Still cracked.