“This Kind of Love” is Josh Turner’s quiet thank-you note to ordinary life—proof that the deepest romance isn’t fireworks, but a steady warmth that keeps returning, day after day.
Josh Turner has always sung like a man who isn’t afraid of stillness. Even when the band kicks up dust, his baritone tends to settle the room, as if he’s reminding you that the best truths don’t need to shout. “This Kind of Love” belongs to that tradition—an album-deep gem that doesn’t arrive with a radio campaign, but with the softer authority of a song that was kept because it meant something.
The most important factual frame is simple: “This Kind of Love” is a deluxe-edition bonus track from Turner’s 2010 album Haywire. The album was released February 9, 2010 on MCA Nashville, produced by Frank Rogers, and it debuted at No. 5 on the Billboard 200 and No. 2 on Top Country Albums, selling 85,000 copies in its first week. That’s the “ranking at launch” that matters here—because “This Kind of Love” itself was not promoted as a single and therefore doesn’t carry its own Billboard Hot 100 or Country Airplay peak. Instead, it lives in the deeper part of the record’s story: a song you meet when you’re not chasing hits, but listening like you used to—letting the album play long enough for the honest tracks to find you.
On the Haywire deluxe track list, “This Kind of Love” appears as track 12, credited solely to Josh Turner as songwriter, running 3:39. Its very placement—after the standard 11-track sequence—gives it the aura of an “extra chapter,” the page you didn’t expect, the one that can feel strangely personal because it wasn’t designed as the front-porch introduction. It’s the letter tucked into the book.
The song also has a small but revealing backstory in the press around the deluxe release. Reuters noted that Turner had two previously unreleased tracks on the deluxe edition, and specifically identified “This Kind of Love” as a song “cut for Haywire.” That wording matters: it suggests the track was part of the album’s creative world, not a random leftover rescued from a hard drive. In a separate interview, Turner spoke about “overcutting” songs for the project—recording more than would fit—and being “lucky enough” to keep “This Kind of Love” on the release after all. That’s a very musician’s kind of luck: not the luck of charts, but the luck of making the final track list—of surviving the edit.
And what does the song say, emotionally, once it arrives?
“This Kind of Love” feels like a portrait of maturity—the kind that doesn’t pretend life is perfect, but chooses gratitude anyway. Rather than leaning on heartbreak theatrics, it moves through the warmth of everyday pleasures and the calm recognition of what truly holds a life together. It’s a classic Turner move: to take something that could be sentimental in lesser hands and sing it with a grounded sincerity—so it lands not as sugar, but as truth.
The title phrase, “This Kind of Love,” is the key. It implies comparison without bitterness: there were other versions of love, other seasons, other thrills—but this is the one that lasts. The kind that feels less like being struck and more like being kept. In Turner’s voice, that idea becomes almost physical: you can hear a man who has learned that devotion isn’t proved by grand speeches; it’s proved by the gentle decision to show up again tomorrow, still choosing the same person, still meaning it.
That’s also why the song pairs so naturally with the larger spirit of Haywire, an album Turner described as carrying “energy” and “passion,” yet still rooted in love and relationships. The radio spotlight from the album went to major singles like “Why Don’t We Just Dance” and “All Over Me,” both No. 1 country hits—tracks built to light up a room quickly. But “This Kind of Love” feels built for the slower hours: the drive home, the quiet kitchen, the moment after the laughter when you realize the real miracle is that the laughter exists at all.
In the end, “This Kind of Love” is not a song that begs to be remembered. It simply is—steady, affectionate, unforced. And maybe that’s why it matters. Because some songs aren’t meant to mark a chart week. They’re meant to mark a life: the small, durable romance of being grateful for what you have, and brave enough to call it love.
