[Intro - a cheesy mock 1970s TV-show theme on analog synthesizers and a wobbly theremin, a filmi string swoop, then the strutting glam groove kicks in: glitter rock drums, drum machine and a sequenced synth bassline] [Verse 1 (the 1974 panel) - strutting retro-futurist pocket, hushed wry vocal over fender rhodes and synth bass, electric sitar and theremin answering each grand prediction] Nineteen seventy-four on a Sunday TV panel Four men in wide lapels and a scientist in flannel Said by nineteen ninety we'd be living on the moon Eating dinner in a pill and driving flying cars by noon There'd be robots doing laundry and there'd be no need to work And a silver robot butler in the hallway with a smirk [Chorus - stacked harmonies burst open, filmi string section and fuzz guitar lifting the hook, tabla rolling, vocoder doubling the last line] That's the trouble with experts They can see clear down the line But the future keeps on winking Taking turns they can't design Nobody saw it coming What we'd love and what we'd lose That's the trouble with experts The future never reads the news [Verse 2 (what we actually got) - the groove gets funkier and more playful, sitar and fuzz guitar trading quick fills, arpeggiator bubbling] We never got the moon base and we never got the flying car But we got a glowing pocket screen that tells us where our friends are We got sourdough and podcasts and a robot vacuum named Lou And a world nobody planned for, and it's stranger and it's true [Chorus - fuller, harmonies stacked higher, strings and synths swelling] That's the trouble with experts They can see clear down the line But the future keeps on winking Taking turns they can't design Nobody saw it coming What we'd love and what we'd lose That's the trouble with experts The future never reads the news [Verse 3 (today's panel) - same strut but sleeker, the theremin returning, vocoder echoing a few words as if from a newer machine] Now there's a brand new panel on a brand new shiny stage Saying the machines will write our songs and turn the final page There'll be cities up on Mars and not a single job to do And they say it with the certain twinkle those fellas in flannel knew [Bridge - drops to fender rhodes, a soft sitar figure and hushed vocal, analog synth pad, tabla ticking softly, phaser on the synths] Maybe the robots will be gardeners Maybe the moon will stay a dream Maybe the thing that changes everything Isn't anything we've seen Maybe it's a song somebody hums Or a kindness nobody planned The future's never what they told us And I kind of think that's grand [Final Chorus - the biggest, brightest lift, everything in, strings, sitar, theremin and harmonies soaring] That's the trouble with experts They can see clear down the line But the future keeps on winking Taking turns they can't design Nobody saw it coming What we'd love and what we'd lose That's the trouble with experts The future never reads the news [Outro - the groove keeps strutting as the track slowly fades, theremin and electric sitar trading on tape echo] Never reads the news (The trouble with experts) Never reads the news
