Recently, songwriter, choral director, and arranger Gitika Partington quietly made music history. With the simultaneous release of thirteen albums—containing 130 original songs written and recorded over five years—she surpassed the current world record for the most albums released in a single day.

What began as a simple songwriting practice evolved organically: nine albums became ten, then twelve, and eventually thirteen. Rather than following a traditional commercial release model, Gitika’s project is rooted in consistency, reflection, and creative freedom. The first twelve albums document time passing—songs written week by week through seasons of challenge, healing, and unexpected light. The thirteenth album gathers the songs that almost slipped away.

Described by broadcaster Tom Robinson as “a force of nature,” Gitika continued creating throughout the pandemic, producing virtual choir works and remaining anchored to a weekly songwriting ritual. Many of the songs serve as personal reflections, small moments of therapy, return, discomfort, humor, and truth written without concern for trends, algorithms, or external validation.

All songs were created within the I Heart Songwriting Club, a Brisbane-based global songwriting community that Gitika has collaborated with virtually for the past five years.

This release is both musical and philosophical: an invitation to make art without permission, pressure, or a critic in the room. The albums are meant to be wandered through, not consumed in order set free all at once, making room for whatever comes next.

To further honor the project, Gitika will invite 130 people to handwrite one lyric each, transforming the songs into a collaborative printed book—bringing this expansive body of work into physical form.

All thirteen Twelvefold albums were released January 30, 2026.

You have released thirteen albums in one day, breaking a world record in the process. At what point did you realize this project had grown beyond its original idea?
I wrote a song a week, and somewhere around week 250, I thought, ‘I really need to release these – set them free – see if anyone might actually want to listen, or take one on and cover it, or just love it.’ Then I spent about three months compiling and planning, and it suddenly became a big undertaking. I approached it in a very methodical way, but as I was doing it, it dawned on me that I might have bitten off more than I could chew! I was so determined, though. Once I’d started pulling it together, there was no turning back.

These albums were written as part of a five-year songwriting practice, rather than as part of a commercial release cycle. How did that consistency shape both the music and you as an artist?
It was a bit like writing a diary – but also not. The main thing is that I simply kept going. Week one turns into week ten, and suddenly it’s week 294, and you realise you’re on the verge of having written, produced, and recorded 300 songs in 300 weeks.
They say if you want to appreciate how far you’ve come, you look back, not forward. If I look back at the first song I wrote for the club five years ago, I would never have imagined I’d still be following the habit – like going to the gym, or meditating, or doing yoga, or building a house brick by brick. And yet here I am, with this enormous body of work. The moral is simple. Sit down today and write a song – then do the same thing next week, and the next, and the next.

You chose to release all thirteen albums simultaneously, resisting algorithms and traditional promotion. What freedom does this give both you and the listener?
Releasing an album can be such pressure – and in my experience, it can also be a terrible letdown. You put your heart  and soul into it, it comes out, your best mate and your auntie buy it, and then it disappears without a trace.
This feels different. Because I’ve released such a massive elephant into the world, there’s no way of pretending it isn’t there; it cannot vanish easily . It compels me to give it more attention, to keep showing up for it, rather than doing the traditional thing of collapsing in relief and quietly moving on.

Many of the songs feel like messages from you to yourself, little moments of therapy, discomfort, and return. What did listening back across five years teach you?
I’m not sure it taught me something neat and quotable. What it did confirm is that sharing feelings gives a listener a chance to say, ‘Ah – I get that.’ Poets often almost state the obvious, but in a way that helps us recognise our own lives. So if someone hears a song and feels less alone for three minutes, that’s good.

This project emphasizes creating without permission or external validation. Why do you think that message is so important for artists right now?
Honestly, I think it’s important for everyone, because everyone has a creative side. So many people walk around saying, ‘I’m rubbish at…’ because someone graded them at school, or mocked them once, and they’ve been wearing that label ever since, and forget they can still enjoy doing the thing anyway. It’s not all about producing something perfect or hit-worthy. I do lots of things I’m quite ‘rubbish’ at. I admit I am a ‘hobbyist’ as I never really gave them a lot of regular practise . I do pottery quite badly. I love making wonky plant pots. My painting is definitely not Renoir, but I love a good art worship in the kitchen with the vinyl quietly humming in the corner. I crochet. I once knitted a sock ( it was too small, so I didn’t  make the other). Songwriting, arranging acapella for choirs, and cooking are the things  that  I’ve kept returning to, so I can say I have mastered them. They say you have to do 10,000 hours of a pursuit to become a master at it. The doing matters more than the result, and you don’t get better unless you keep doing it . I heard Ed Sheeran say he wrote loads of terrible songs before he got the hang of it. That’s the point. Make the wonky pots. Write dodgy first drafts. Keep going. Have fun and struggle in the process. Put the work in.

By inviting 130 people to handwrite lyrics into a physical book, you’re extending the project beyond music. What does that communal, tactile element add to the legacy of this work?
Oh, it’s going to be so exciting . And it’s something I’ve never done before, which is always a joy when a new idea drops into your head, and you can feel it spark. Mixed-media projects really suit me – songs, video, and proper pages you can turn and hold – and yes, theoretically set fire to (joke).
More seriously, the handwritten element makes it human. Different handwriting, different styles, little quirks on the page. It turns the project into a community object, not just a digital release, and that feels like a beautiful extension of what the whole thing is about.

For more information visit: https://www.facebook.com/GitikaPartingtonMusic or contact terry@cannonballpr.com  / 07871917774.