Referring to the media reaction to The Smiths’ The Queen Is Dead album back in 1986, in his new simply titled Autobiography, Morrissey says: “Reviews had been very supportive apart from Ireland’s Hot Press whose title warned The Crown Slips. Well, it hadn’t. It stayed on more firmly fixed than ever before, so thank you Hot Press.”

Aw, think nothing of it. It’s fair to say that the late, extremely great Bill Graham wasn’t convinced by the Mancunians’ third studio effort, writing: “Hear this man carelessly and distractedly humming to himself, in the bathroom mirror: 'And if a double-decker bus/crashes into us/To die by your side/ Such a heavenly way to die/ And if a ten-ton truck/Kills the both of us/To die by your side/ The pleasure and privilege is mine'…

“Such a mixture of lassitude, camp and forbidden fancies, it could only be Morrissey. Is this man a ghost with wilting daffodils? Granted, The Smiths may have served a fleeting purpose but they’ve been surrounded by pygmies. And if Morrissey has nobly disdained standard male heroics – a persona that could still allow him limitless scope for fresh manoeuvre – and been the latest alienist and therapist to art-starved and angst-ridden adolescents, I might also argue that Barry Manilow and Chris De Burgh serve equally useful social functions.

“And yes, The Smiths have been a necessary antidote to consumerist pop, deserving of a few moments of glory. But the buck must stop here, for their third album goes far towards proving that Morrissey is but an astutely publicity-conscious and individual minor talent, over-exposed and over-extended by the demands made on him.

“About the only partial excuse – an uninformed guess, I hasten to add – for the inadequacies of The Queen Is Dead is that it just might be thrown together to fulfil their final contractual obligations to Rough Trade. Certainly it has all the signatures but little substance, for all the covering-up of Johnny Marr. An ingenious and sometimes inspirational guitarist, he can’t however disguise Morrissey’s vocal drone – a limited vehicle which destroys any semblance of drama, the affectations of a one-trick pony whose melodies are but a series of variations on an increasingly tiring theme. Hell, even John Cooper Clarke has a wider range and though Morrissey does have the grace to confess on the title-track, ‘I know you and you cannot sing’, as an ex-Catholic, he should recall that all acts of contrition should also include a desire for amendment.

“The Queen Is Dead does start appealingly, with the title-track, introduced by scatter-shot drums from Mike Joyce, that lead to Marr’s most resounding guitar barrage while Morrissey’s doleful reading of the vaudeville-styled ‘Frankly, Mr. Shankly’ is at least, a puzzling contrast. ‘I Know It’s Over’ strays into Roy Orbison territory with some closing swaying guitar from Marr but thereafter, it’s downhill. ‘Never Had No One Ever’ is a riff posing as a song, while ‘Cemetery Gates’ has Morrissey wittering on about Keats, Yeats and Wilde – whereas in reality he’s much closer to E.J. Thribb.

“On the second side, ‘Bigmouth Strikes Again’ is standard Smiths single fare, enlivened by Marr’s guitar break and a sprinkling of vocal harmonies from guest Ann Coates. ‘Vicar In A Tutu’ passes muster as the album’s most finished lyric in a tale of priestly misdemeanours, but the remaining three songs are scant throwaways as The Queen Is Dead ends with a whimper and self-indulgent whimsy.

“The Smiths used to be miserable but heavens knows, they’re close to risible now.”

That was our Bill, never afraid to swim against the tide. The Queen Is Dead was altogether more fondly remembered in April 2006 when it was adjudged by Team Hot Press to be the 19th Greatest Album of All-Time.

“Like great literature, here was a record that engaged the intellect and nurtured the soul,” enthused Peter Murphy. “The Smiths' masterpiece was hatched in circumstances of unbearable pressure. The band were at their critical and commercial peak; after a run of classic singles, culminating in 1985’s 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side', fans expected something astonishing.

“Never before or since did Marr’s music and Morrisey’s vocals blend so seamelessly – The Queen Is Dead permits itself moments of melodrama yet never forgets that, above all, it's supposed to be a pop album. In addition to such Smiths' milestones as 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out' and 'Big Mouth Strikes Again', there is space for humour ('Frankly, Mr. Shankly') and camp anguish ('I Know It’s Over').”

We’re up to page 417 now, and have to say that Autobiography is a captivating read. By turns funny, erudite, bitchy, vengeful and revealing – you didn’t expect anything else, did you? – it just makes us love Steven Patrick all the more.