Eight enrichment sessions in a week, sixteen songs rewritten, and the campaign crossed one hundred of two hundred and fourteen. That is the headline, and it is the least interesting thing about the stretch. What the week actually produced was a catalogue of things the previous version of this site said with confidence and could not support.
Phantom instruments
Two of them turned up in the same fortnight, and both had been sitting on the pages as plain fact. The sleeve of Rubber Soul credits Ringo Starr with Hammond organ on I’m Looking Through You; Lewisohn’s account is blunt that it cannot be heard on the recording. On You Won’t See Me, Mal Evans was asked to hold a single note down on the Hammond for the length of the song, and Lewisohn records that no such sound is detectable on the tape or the disc. Both credits are real. Neither instrument is audible. A page that lists them as instrumentation without saying so is repeating a document rather than describing a record, and both now carry the distinction.
The same session found a third of the same species, running the other way. Girl had a fuzz guitar recorded and then deleted from the final mix — performed, committed to tape, and absent from the thing you can listen to. It belongs in the recording history and nowhere near the instrument list.
Take counts, again
The fabricated take-count problem documented earlier in this log kept surrendering ground. Yesterday had claimed twenty-five takes; the session log reads takes 1–2. Girl claimed twenty-eight; the answer is two. The Word claimed twenty-six and was perfected in three. We Can Work It Out claimed twenty-five and took two. Day Tripper claimed fifteen and took three, of which only the third was complete. If I Needed Someone claimed four and was built on take 1. I Want to Tell You claimed fourteen and took five; Good Day Sunshine claimed fifteen and took three.
The pattern is consistent enough to be diagnostic. Inflated take counts cluster on pages whose sources were secondary or invented, and they inflate in one direction only — nobody ever guessed a session was quicker than it was. The corrections all move the same way, toward a band that worked faster than the mythology suggests, right up until the moment it deliberately did not.
What the second source is for
Three source conflicts surfaced in a fortnight and none of them were resolved, which is the point. Lewisohn hears acoustic guitars on Girl; Kehew and Ryan hear a bouzouki-like guitar and think it most probably an actual bouzouki. Lewisohn attributes the harmonium on We Can Work It Out to John Lennon; Kehew and Ryan, reading outtake evidence, think it was likely Paul McCartney. On Nowhere Man, the guitar solo may have been played simultaneously by John and George on matching Stratocasters, and the tape does not settle it. Each page now carries both readings. The site is not in the business of picking a winner between two primary sources when the evidence does not.
Elsewhere the second source did the opposite job and supplied what the first did not. You Won’t See Me is the first time Paul’s bass got a track of its own, and the delayed-bass method that defines the Rubber Soul sound runs in a visible cluster across Michelle, The Word and You Won’t See Me — a technique you can only see by reading the track sheets, not the session diary.
Into Revolver
The campaign crossed from Rubber Soul into Revolver and the studio changed character within a few songs. Got to Get You into My Life brought the first brass section on a Beatles record, five players, and Geoff Emerick’s close-miking put them nearer the microphone than orchestral practice allowed. Love You To arrived under the working title Granny Smith and brought Anil Bhagwat, the first outside Indian musician on a Beatles session. And Your Bird Can Sing exists in two versions — a discarded April attempt whose outtake dissolves into laughter, and a re-make eleven days later assembled from an edit of two takes. Doctor Robert, And Your Bird Can Sing and I’m Only Sleeping were stereo-panned as a batch, which is why they sound like siblings.
One unglamorous fix closed the week. A reader flagged a broken Spotify panel on one page; rather than fix that page, all two hundred and eighteen embedded track identifiers on the site were checked against Spotify’s public metadata endpoint. Three were dead, not one, and the other two had gone unreported. All three were replaced with verified identifiers cross-checked against each page’s own stated duration. A reported fault is a sample, not a census; the cost of checking the whole population was about four minutes.