In 1989, Terence Trent D'Arby decided to follow the million-selling, 18-month chart mainstay Introducing The Hardline... with the crazy psychedelic soul brainstorm of Neither Fish Nor Flesh. The rest is... pointing and laughing.

It was clear from the start that TTD was all idiosyncrasy. Interviews reveal a man who thought deeply about his craft, and expressed it in gnomic gobbledigook. His act was James Brown, Prince, Smokey Robinson rolled into a bug-eyed erstwhile soldier who knew he was God's gift and had the singles – If You Let Me Stay, Wishing Well, Dance Little Sister – to prove it. The year was 1987 and appetite for airbrushed soulful authenticity was keen; look at the established Simply Red, the emerging Hue & Cry, the wannabes Wet Wet Wet. TTD's rasp, however, hinted at an even realer deal. Following the top 10 singles, Introducing The Hardline... charted high in summer 1987 and hung around, taking the occasional boost from each single release, but it was the canny tease of Sign Your Name – not a 45 until early 1988 – that finally pushed Introducing... to Number 1. And there it hunkered down for two whole months.

Now that's the sort of success that happens once in a generation, and commonsense suggests a number of options for a follow-up: dish out more of the same, safe in the knowledge the horses won't be scared even if there's a mild risk status will decline; grind out an album over half a decade, glossing it with drugs, sweat and lazy grandiosity; or, alienate every man jack of your fans with a jarring volte-face. Guess what appealed to our Terence?

The big comeback single, in autumn 1989, was This Side Of Love, its brutal Bo Diddley swamp-groove as Top 10-friendly as a Gary Glitter comeback. Wheezing to a Number 93 chart peak, the wheels were never even on. Neither Fish Nor Flesh followed soon after, and its chart career was not simply the polar opposite of Introducing...'s; it took a seat with the dark matter in the coldest corner of the universe. Entering at an initially worrying (but, in the light of ensuing events, absolutely golden) Number 12, it was gone altogether within a month, never to return. The Trout was flat out on the bank, gasping.

Obviously something went awry with promotion, or can one thorny single piss away all that goodwill? Reviews of the album weren't even that bad: Q magazine treated it with bemused good grace, while Record Mirror stuck its neck out to proclaim it the best soul album in five years. Mind you, in a decade where the over-glossed R&B of Anita Baker and Freddie Jackson was the benchmark of new soul quality, that might not have been the most ringing endorsement.

So what's wrong with Neither Fish Nor Flesh? On a purely commercial level, the modern sheen of Introducing... is out, in its place roughed-up arrangements and quirky instrumentation – witness the tablas and percussive itch of I Have Faith In These Desolate Times, the unnerving cut-up funk of You Will Pay Tomorrow and backwards beats of Roly Poly. These aren't easy sells, but they ooze toughed-up authenticity, and only a closed mind would object. It would have been the work of a moment to pastiche the salad days of 70s soul. TTD dug deep to bring it on to the eclectic hedonism of the 80s/90s cusp.

He played the simple game on the almost-face-saving To Know Someone Deeply Is To Know Someone Softly, splicing pop and jazz in voguish style to create a minor, later hit, and even kept a potential chart-stormer in reserve with the “love you, mate, but not like that, sorry” tale of Billy Don't Fall, but when you're damned you're damned. The lucky few who bought and listened found a tastily sequenced record that grew from the stately Eastern mysticism of It Feels So Good To Love Someone Like You to the swaggering big band soul of I'll Be Alright, coming to rest with dizzy a cappella on And I Need To Be With Someone Tonight; the guffawing remainder missed out and still don't care.

Amazingly, he came back. As if nothing had happened, TTD reappeared in 1993, racking up hits with the howling, thrilling funk of Do You Love Me Like You Say? and Delicate's polite duet with Des'ree. But it couldn't last. Within a couple of years he was making ordinary records with extraordinary blond hair, then changing his name and taking leave of the radar. Back when he was a big star he lost momentum. Perhaps he was ahead of the game, or just not playing it at all. Either way, no one understood.