My wife insists that “Kissing You” by Des’ree is the most romantic song ever recorded—and after years of DJing weddings and watching how music moves people, I concede. As with most things, my wife is right. From Des’ree’s singular voice to the song’s restrained arrangement and emotional precision, this is romance without theatrics. Here’s why “Kissing You” works so powerfully—and how it differs from what I still believe is the greatest love song ever written.
January 22, 2026
For those of you who regularly read my blog (and forgive my occasional long absences), you know that I have written at length about this topic before. In my Valentine's Day blog post from last year, I argued that Etta James's "At Last" is the most beautiful love song ever recorded. In fact, I called it "The Ultimate Wedding Love Song." I still stand firmly by that argument. But my wife is of a different point of view. She insists that "Kissing You" by Des'ree is the most romantic song ever recorded. Today's blog post explains how and why we are both correct.
My wife insists that “Kissing You” by Des’ree is the most romantic song ever recorded, and after years of listening to it—not just casually, but in the context of weddings, ceremonies, first dances, and quiet end-of-night moments—I’ve come to accept a simple truth: she’s right. Not “right in a personal-preference way,” but right in the way that matters when music intersects with emotion, memory, and vulnerability. Romance in music isn’t about grand gestures or lyrical cleverness. It’s about restraint, honesty, and emotional precision. “Kissing You” doesn’t try to impress you. It doesn’t chase you. It simply stands still and allows you to feel. And that, paradoxically, is what makes it devastatingly romantic.
Before we talk about the song, it helps to understand who Des’ree is, because her artistry is inseparable from her voice. Des’ree was born Desirée Annette Weekes in November 1968 in London. She is the daughter of a Barbadian father and Guyanese mother, and her music reflects that quiet blend of cultures and introspection. She emerged in the early 1990s with a sound that didn’t fit neatly into pop, R&B, or soul—but borrowed from all three. Most people know her for “You Gotta Be,” a song that became an anthem of empowerment in the mid-’90s, or “Life,” which was playful, optimistic, and radio-friendly. But even in those songs, there was something different about her delivery. She never sounded like she was performing at you. She sounded like she was letting you overhear something private.
Des’ree’s voice is her secret weapon, and it’s unlike almost anyone else’s. It’s not big. It’s not showy. It doesn’t rely on melisma or vocal gymnastics. Instead, it lives in this rare space between warmth and fragility. Her pitch is astonishingly centered—she sings dead-on without sounding clinical—and her timbre has a natural grain to it, a breathiness that feels human rather than polished. There’s an emotional neutrality to her tone that allows listeners to project their own feelings onto the song. She doesn’t tell you how to feel. She gives you the space to feel it yourself. That quality alone puts her in rare company.
Now let’s talk about “Kissing You,” which most people first heard in the 1996 film William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. The song is built on an almost disarmingly simple foundation, and that’s intentional. The key sits comfortably in a range that favors intimacy over power, allowing Des’ree to sing softly without ever sounding weak. The melody moves stepwise more often than it leaps, which gives the song a sense of inevitability—like one thought gently leading to the next. Nothing feels rushed. Nothing feels forced. The harmonic progression supports her voice without ever drawing attention to itself, which is exactly what romance should do. It doesn’t distract. It supports.
The arrangement is a masterclass in restraint. Strings enter slowly, deliberately, and never overwhelm the vocal. There’s space between notes—actual silence—which is something modern pop music is often afraid of. That space allows emotion to linger. The dynamics rise and fall naturally, mirroring the feeling of falling in love itself: quiet moments punctuated by sudden intensity. The song never explodes, and that’s the point. Romance doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it whispers. “Kissing You” understands that better than almost any song ever written.
What makes this song truly extraordinary, though, is how perfectly it fits Des’ree’s voice—and how poorly it would fit most others'. In the hands of a bigger vocalist, the temptation would be to oversing it, to turn it into a showcase. But the song collapses under that weight. Its power comes from control, not force. Des’ree sings with impeccable pitch, but she allows the edges of her voice to remain soft, almost unfinished. That vulnerability is essential. If someone else tried to “improve” the song by adding runs, belting, or dramatic phrasing, it would lose the very thing that makes it romantic. This is not a song about proving love. It’s a song about surrendering to it.
Lyrically, the song is deceptively simple, but simplicity is not the same as shallowness. The words feel timeless because they avoid cleverness. There’s no attempt to modernize the sentiment or anchor it in a specific era. It’s pure feeling, stripped of metaphor overload. That universality is why the song still works decades later, and why it continues to land so effectively at weddings. It doesn’t tell a story about someone else. It becomes your story the moment you hear it. That’s rare.
It is unfortunate that couples almost never select the song for their wedding playlists because it is unrivaled in both its message and its delivery. I will occasionally play it at weddings of my own volition, and I have experienced its power first-hand. I have watched “Kissing You” change rooms. I have seen couples forget there are guests watching. I have seen parents cry quietly at their tables. And I have witnessed people who swear they are “not emotional” suddenly become very emotional. Romance, when it’s real, doesn’t announce itself. It sneaks up on you. This song does exactly that. It bypasses your intellect and goes straight to memory, touch, and connection. That’s not accidental. That’s craft.
So yes—my wife insists that “Kissing You” is the most romantic song ever recorded, and the evidence is overwhelming. It is not romantic because it’s famous (sadly, most listeners have forgotten the song; it is seldom played, and almost never requested), and it is not romantic because it’s associated with Shakespeare's star-crossed lovers. It’s romantic because everything about it—Des’ree’s voice, the key, the melody, the arrangement, the restraint—works together toward a single emotional goal. It doesn’t age because it was never chasing a trend. It doesn’t demand attention because it doesn’t need to. It simply exists, quietly confident in its truth. And sometimes, the most romantic thing a song can do is trust you enough to meet it where it is.
There’s also an important distinction worth making here—one I’ve written about before, and one I still stand by completely. I have argued, and will continue to argue, that “At Last” by Etta James is the greatest love song ever written. That opinion hasn’t softened with time or repetition. “At Last” is a song about arrival—about longing resolved, patience rewarded, and love finally finding its home. It carries the weight of history, struggle, and triumph. It sounds like commitment. It sounds like relief. It sounds like a door closing on loneliness forever. In the canon of love songs, it’s monumental, declarative, and earned.
My wife and I have argued about this for years, and I have long believed that we were in opposition. But I have newly realized that we have, in fact, been arguing two very different ideas. Here’s where the distinction matters: the greatest love song and the most romantic song are not the same thing. “At Last” is about love fulfilled. “Kissing You” is about love unfolding. One stands at the altar of certainty; the other lingers in the fragile, breathtaking moment before everything is decided. Etta James sings from a place of strength, experience, and authority. Des’ree sings from a place of vulnerability, wonder, and emotional exposure. “At Last” tells you what love is. “Kissing You” lets you feel what love does to you.
That difference is why both songs can be true at the same time—and why my wife and I can both be right. “At Last” is the greatest love song because it defines love as something enduring and victorious. “Kissing You” is the most romantic song because it captures love at its most delicate, uncertain, and intoxicating. One is a declaration made after the storm. The other is the quiet intake of breath before the first kiss. They aren’t competing ideas; they’re two different emotional chapters in the same story.
And perhaps that’s why both songs endure so powerfully when they are played at weddings. One speaks to the promise being made. The other speaks to the feeling that made the promise inevitable. Romance isn’t diminished by acknowledging love’s permanence—and love isn’t weakened by remembering how fragile it once felt. If anything, the two songs together remind us why music matters so much on a wedding day. It doesn’t just mark the moment. It gives voice to everything that came before it—and everything we hope comes after.
Editor’s Note: This post is part of an ongoing, good-natured household debate. I maintain—confidently—that “At Last” by Etta James is the greatest love song ever written. My wife remains equally confident that “Kissing You” by Des’ree is the most romantic song ever recorded. After much discussion (and zero concessions), we have agreed that both statements can be true. No further negotiations are scheduled at this time.