SOUND AND (WELL, SOMETIMES) VISION: Not everything Bowie did was genius – he was more interesting than that.

For younger generations, including my own children, Bowie has simply become synonymous with genius, an artist who had a preternatural gift for mapping out the future; which is to say, their present. A man who exuded sexual intrigue, effortless cool and impeccable artistic taste.

Anybody who lived through Bowie’s later 1980s and early 1990s – or indeed possesses more than a passing awareness of his 1960s – will find this blanket deification a little hard to countenance. For the record, I am a massive fan, particularly of the remarkable records he made between 1974 and 1980, as well as The Buddha of Suburbia, 1.Outside, Heathen and his masterly final album, Blackstar.

I know my subject. I paid my dues. I fell for Bowie at the age of 11, in 1985, slap bang in the period widely recognised as his doldrums: getting into Bowie in the mid-1980s was akin to discovering Orson Welles during the period he was taping commercials for Paul Masson Wines. I weathered the ignominy of trying desperately to like his 1987 nadir Never Let Me Down, and the blokey ‘call me Dave’ downscaling farrago of Tin Machine. I failed, as did most people.

Because what the myth often fails to print these days is that, around this time, Bowie was close to a laughing stock. The influential weekly music papers begged him to pack it in. He couldn’t buy a good review. He punted his wares on Wogan and TFI Friday like all the other poor ‘pick-me’ pop stars. He was resolutely Earthbound and frequently embarrassing. Remember Bowie kneeling to give the Lord’s Prayer at the Freddie Mercury Tribute concert? Remember the video for the plodding ‘Day In, Day Out’, which depicted him rollerblading through some MTV version of Skid Row, lamenting the drug blight in America? Remember all those awful movies? I do.

Speaking of Bowie movies: Is ‘Moonage Daydream,’ the New David Bowie Documentary, Worth the Roller Coaster Ride?