Banks' straight novels are quite good too. In fact, his best book is probably The Bridge. The Wasp Factory is a dandy thriller, as is Complicity. Crow Road is also excellent.
Moorcock's peak was probably Behold the Man. The Cornelius Chronicles are entertaining in a Robert Anton Wilson sort of way. The Nomad of Time ties in somehow, to the detriment of both series. But I can't read any of Moorcock's fantasy series, which make Tolkien look like Shakespeare. Nor can I get through any of his pastiche pulp constructs.
Given the relative impossibility of separating new SF from the fantasy, most fiction I read is the stuff from the few big names cranking anything out: Brin's Existence (falls apart, relies too much on his weak political thinking); Robinson's 2312 (excellent); Reynolds' Blue Remembered Earth (not finished, looks promising); Slonczewski's newest (excellent); Scalzi's Redshirts is on reserve.
I suppose when the Big Name SF writers die, I won't know any new ones and I won't read SF anymore.