Neil McCormick from The Daily Telegraph may well have reflected quite a bit after his review of 'Blackstar' which drew the conclusion: "It suggests that, like a modern day Lazarus of pop, Bowie is well and truly back from beyond."
Kitty Empire, who got it similarly wrong, used the whole of a piece in The Observer this weekend to make her excuses in full.
'Blackstar', with the advantage of hindsight, is so obviously a grim farewell to mortality, but few people knew what was coming, so it's not entirely surprising that they got it so wrong.
My own feelings about – and memories of – Bowie are fairly straightforward. I loved 'Hunky Dory' and I loved the fact that you couldn't go into my local bar in the early 1970s without 'Life On Mars' blasting out of the jukebox – the perfect soundtrack for that time.
I never liked the 'Ziggy Stardust' and 'Aladdin Sane' albums that much. 'Young Americans' was a wonderful return to form. And I'm afraid, for me, that's just about it.
I only saw him once on stage – with Queen – and he was truly remarkable. Bowie was a great musician, and a great performer with great presence – and a great appetite for sex, drugs and rock 'n roll, and maybe he willingly paid the price for that.
Now he's gone, 'Life On Mars' still says it all, I reckon.
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