Jeremy Vine: The JV show (with apologies to JY and thanks to JP)

Yesterday, he was a would-be Jeremy Paxman on 'Newsnight'. Tomorrow, he becomes the new Jimmy Young. Is he finally ready to break out of the shadows and make a name for himself?

Comparisons are odious, but they're especially odious if you're Jeremy Vine. After years in which the Newsnight anchorman has been relentlessly compared to the other Newsnight Jeremy – the sarcastic, saturnine, celebrity Jeremy, who privately dubbed his namesake "Mini-Me" – tomorrow Vine will invite comparison with an ever bigger legend.

As he takes over the Radio 2 microphone occupied for 30 years by Sir Jimmy Young, commentators and listeners seem poised for him to stumble. BBC spokesmen talk defensively of a "transitional dip" in the programme's ratings, which regularly rose to five million with Young. You begin to ask what Vine, the 37-year-old son of a maths lecturer from Epsom, has to do to become a star in his own right.

"This is a big gamble for him," says one BBC insider. "He didn't like working alongside Paxman and knew that if he stayed at Newsnight he would always be in his shadow. But you wonder if he's not walking out of the frying pan into the fire by taking over the Jimmy Young slot."

Ask anyone about Vine and they fall over themselves to stress his normality. "He's an ordinary, unassuming bloke," says one. He lives in west London and supports Chelsea; he likes middle-of-the-road bands such as ELO, and the poems of WH Auden. To some he goes beyond the ordinary, to become blandness personified. Even when dressed in fishnets and heels as Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Show during the BBC's recent Children in Need appeal, he exuded barely a bat's squeak of sexuality. He was barred from the Today programme band on account of being too clean-cut. He lacks the abrasive charisma that appears to accompany modern celebrity. But what he is, indisputably, is the ultimate safe pair of hands.

This was just what the BBC needed in its awkward task of replacing the 81-year-old Young. The guiding principle surrounding Vine's arrival was to be "change by stealth" and the plan was for a gentle transition with no major ructions until next autumn to avoid frightening the horses.

This being the BBC, however, the whole affair was instead conducted in a blaze of bad publicity, with stinging tabloid headlines and questions in Parliament. First, more than a year ago, there was the revelation by Nicky Campbell that he had been wooed behind Young's back to take over his job. Campbell rejected the offer and memorably dissed the show by describing its political content as "a bit about the price of lamb chops". The fact that the venerable Young had not been consulted before having his job touted around resulted in outraged protests, topped by an early-day motion from MPs who accused the BBC of ageism, and assertions from Young that he wanted to "die at the microphone".

After routine stages of retreat and denial, the BBC embarked on a very public beauty contest, and finally ejected a disgruntled Young last month. He left without ever meeting Vine, letting his listeners know that he was upset: "It's not my idea to leave and I know by your messages that you don't want me to leave – nothing to do with me, guv," he broadcast.

In tomorrow's debut, Vine will be asking questions about cloning and inviting listeners to share their experiences of going on a diet. But the question that everyone is asking is how he will handle the transition from Newsnight hard man to emollient chat show host. It's difficult to imagine Jeremy Paxman breaking off from an interview about a war with Iraq to spin the new Phil Collins, or Kirsty Wark interrupting discussion of the euro referendum with the latest from Victoria Beckham. Even given the plethora of politicians willing to come on Radio 2's flagship show, can a serious news journalist really enjoy the balance between grilling and grooving that such a format requires?

The answer, it seems, is simple. "Jeremy's a showman at heart. He really does want to be a star," says a BBC insider. "His brother is a stand-up comedian and, despite Jeremy's years in political journalism, he's no politics junkie."

After an English degree at Durham University, Vine started out in journalism on the Coventry Evening Telegraph before joining the BBC in 1987 on its prestigious news trainee scheme. He worked as a reporter on the Today programme, then at Westminster, before becoming the BBC's Africa correspondent in 1997, during which time he won an award for a report on South African police brutality.

He finessed his interview technique at Newsnight, though some believe that proximity to Paxman was bad for him. "To those of us who were there he seemed to model himself on Paxman, even in the way he did the hectoring, slightly public schoolboyish aggression," says a BBC journalist. "He didn't need to do it. It wasn't really him." Another, lighter side of Vine emerged during the last election, when he travelled round the country in a battered Newsnight "battle-bus", and viewers warmed to it.

Vine himself seems delighted to be returning to what he describes as the forensic style of radio, compared to television's more gladiatorial approach. He is a genuine music lover who numbers the Jam, Elvis Costello and Joy Division among his favourites. And, in case he has any lingering doubts, there is also the question of money. His salary will rise to more than £250,000 year. But he will be keeping his hand in TV-wise by presenting a new project called The Politics Show.

For Radio 2's part, there's no ambivalence about the move. Vine's appointment follows that of presenters such as Jonathan Ross, Steve Wright, Jools Holland and Mark Lamarr who are bringing in a satisfying chunk of the "middle youth" audience. The age of the average listener has fallen from 56 to 51, and Radio 2 has overtaken Radio 1 as the most popular network, with more than 12 million tuning in each week.

This superlatively successful strategy has been masterminded by Radio 2's controller, the engaging Jim Moir. Cheerily describing the bulk of his listeners as the "55-to-heaven age group" approaching "that final age of maturity known as death", Moir has taken on the task of developing a new audience for a network which loses 200,000 listeners a year to the grave. His approach has been evolution not revolution, keeping the likes of Sing Something Simple, Thanks for the Memory, Terry Wogan and Ken Bruce alongside the younger imports.

It is said that Vine has been counselled not to chat about his private life on air and, if so, it won't be a hardship. Friends describe him as "a genuinely private guy" and certainly he has shown little enthusiasm for publicising his personal life since the break-up of his first marriage to Janelle, an American banker, which he attributed to pressure of work. The habitats of other showbiz fauna – premieres, parties and the pages of Hello! – hold little appeal for him, especially since his new marriage to Rachel Schofield, a 26-year-old Woman's Hour reporter.

He is also a devout Christian, though his time in Africa made him question his beliefs. "I ended up being very disappointed with the quality of my faith," he commented. "I am struggling with it." He writes poetry, is both conscientious and famously sensitive. When a listener called recently to complain about his voice and to ask him to "keep your trap shut in future", Vine promptly rang her back to analyse her argument. If Jeremy Vine wears a mask of bland normality, it hides a complex and ambitious man.