Mark Lamarr

Despite rock'n'roll being at a bit of a low ebb pop-culturally, the music quiz show forged in the ashes of Britpop still endures, and for this new series now has a new permanent host in Rhod Gilbert. His astonished goofiness is rather different to the acid snark of Mark Lamarr and Simon Amstell before him, but there's no shortage of whipping boys for potential lampooning: both Professor Green and the 1975's Matt Healy will no doubt have their mickey not so much taken as kidnapped in this opening episode.

Radio Times review

At last, Buzzcocks has a permanent host. For too long we've been adrift on a choppy sea of guest hosts where for every swell like Terry Wogan or Adam Buxton who could make the show their own, there have been troughs of forgettable faces.

One of the more memorable is voluble Welsh comic Rhod Gilbert, who finally takes on the mantle of hosting duties left by Mark Lamarr and Simon Amstell. He's not as acerbic or waspish as either of those two, so expect more surreal anarchy than vicious putdowns. Guests Professor Green, Roisin Conaty, Gabby Logan and the 1975's Matt Healy will do their best to keep up.

During his tenure as host of Never Mind The Buzzcocks, Amstell really got under the skin of some prickly pop stars. They could easily shrug off the more basic, blunt bullying of previous host Mark Lamarr, but Amstell was more charming, insightful and vicious - a killer combination. It's refreshing that he casts the same relentlessly cutting view to his own life. This stand-up routine from last year sees him tear his awkward existence apart with a winning lack of smugness and ego. It's not a gag-athon, just a very funny, philosophical look at how ridiculous life is.

Vic & Bob Shooting Stars interview

George Dawes may no longer be in charge of the scores, Mark Lamarr and Will Self have departed and the Dove From Above may be going a bit grey around the edges, but there's still something very exciting about a new series of Shooting Stars...

I do quite mind the Buzzcocks actually

Since Amstell left, my favourite remaining little pop show Never Mind The Buzzcocks has lost its way. Depending on the guest host it has either left you wishing for the return of Simon Amstell, or, in some drastic cases, the return of Mark Lamarr.

The line-up seems to change as often as the cast of your average soap but somehow this comedy music panel game has endured. Since the show's inception in 1996, Mark Lamarr and Simon Amstell have had spells as presenter, and Sean Hughes and Bill Bailey have both taken the role of regular team captain. Only Phill Jupitus has lasted the distance. Even the tone of the show has changed over the years - particularly after Amstell took over presenting duties. He put his own quirky, irreverent and somewhat juvenile mark on the programme and when team captain Bailey quit last year he referred to the guests as "gormless indie twerps". Now Noel Fielding (of The Mighty Boosh fame) will take the captain's seat opposite Jupitus, and Amstell will be replaced by guest presenters (beginning tonight with Gavin & Stacey's James Corden). Whether the show will survive after such a flurry of changes remains to be seen. Although Buzzcocks has long since left the illusion of improvisation behind, it has certainly become much "trendier" in recent years and, thanks mostly to the wit of Amstell and Jupitus, it has remained entertaining. Now one must hope that Jupitus can carry on that tradition alone. Joining the teams this week are the potentially dull Tom Clarke of indie band The Enemy and singer Paloma Faith but fortunately actor/comedians Ben Miller and Janeane Garofalo should help keep the proceedings lively.

For those worried that they'd not seen much of James Corden on their screens recently, relax, he's back. He hosts the umpteenth return of Buzzcocks - along with Noel Fielding, who's back as a team captain. The quick-witted Simon Amstell is gone, so now it's a revolving-door host policy, with the ability to read an autocue and laugh generously at unfunny gags by Phill Jupitus the only qualifications that seem to be required. Fine, anything that keeps Mark Lamarr from clawing his way back on to our screens.

Shooting Stars is back! Show us the scores, George Dawes! Isn't that great news? I think so. As always with Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer's surreal quiz show (Tuesday, BBC Two), I found about a third of it hilarious, another third perfectly acceptable, and the final third far too weird to comprehend for even a moment. Aside from last year's Christmas Special, the show has been away since 2002. Could it really have been so long? And how would it have aged?

Um, fine. I think. Or maybe it has just aged at the same speed as I have. Vic and Bob have become less like your weirdo neighbours and more like a pair of creepy old uncles, which suits them very well. Bob suddenly seems to bear a startling resemblance to Martin Freeman, although I suppose that might also have been the case last time around, and we just wouldn't have known. Ulrikakaka is back, and Matt Lucas, incredibly, is too. Does anybody know what has happened to Mark Lamarr? Is he OK? They've given us Jack Dee instead ("a sweaty moccasin!" said Vic), which seems perfectly respectable, and also a sort of delivery-man character comic, who might be a regular feature.

In part, I suppose, Shooting Stars was such fun because it was like meeting up with some old friends and hearing them tell all the same old jokes. Will new audiences find them funny, too? Or will they just be baffled and a little scared, like Christine Bleakley was when Vic started rubbing his thighs? Not a clue. Time will tell. I'd quite like to see them hit each other with frying pans in the next episode, though. I've missed that.

Back in 1993, Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer cornered the market in surreal self-indulgence with their infectious take on the celebrity panel show. After a one-off special last December to mark its 15th anniversary, Shooting Stars is back again with a full series and a mix of old and new faces.

In the special, Jack Dee took over the mantle of grumpy team captain as first patented by Mark Lamarr and he returns once more opposite Ulrika Jonsson. Surprisingly perhaps, given that his own star has now eclipsed the hosts, Matt Lucas is back behind his drum kit as George Dawes with the scores.

The new, regular addition to this series is a character called Angelos Epithemiou, who's introduced as an ordinary member of the public and burger-van owner but, in reality, is comedian Dan Skinner.

Otherwise, the familiar catchphrases are dusted off, the Dove From Above flies again and The One Show's Christine Bleakley draws the short straw this week as the object of Vic Reeves' disturbing attentions.

I'll admit it. There was a point when I didn't quite 'get' ­Shooting Stars. There were so many questions. Why was a man who looks like a pickled walnut dressed as a baby? And why was he playing the drums? Why were they asking: "True or false: Bill Cosby is the world's first black man?" And why was the answer false, but only because the correct answer was "Sidney Poitier"? Why did the hosts - Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer - occasionally hit each other with comedy homemade ­objects, and make noises ­resembling a llama giving birth, as if they were talking? Just what was Mark Lamarr?

Then I saw an episode where they made Ulrika Jonsson stand in the centre of the stage and swung a stuffed bear at her. On a rope. From the ceiling. Shooting Stars made no sense but once you mentally tuned in, it was brilliant - a panel show that took surrealist comedy mainstream for the first time since Monty Python. And now, 12 years after disappearing from terrestrial TV, it's ba-ba-back. With Ulrika-ka-ka... you get the point. So, is it as good as ever?

Well, yes, because beyond the bizarre rounds (tonight: who's disguised as Hitler?), surreal questions ("name someone with a face") and off-beat skits (what Care Home: The Musical would be like), you remember the real ­reason for Shooting Stars has always been satirical. The clue's in the double-edged ­title, for the hard of thinking.

Hence, Ulrika - the kind of person who'd make love to herself and sell the kiss-and-tell to a tabloid - remains as target practice as a team captain ("You're writing a book, aren't you?" says Bob Mortimer. "The first thing you need is a pen. And some ideas. Could come together.").

But far better than the celeb guests who "got" Shooting Stars, were the ones that really didn't. Step ­forward ­tonight's guest, DJ Ironic. He dresses all in black, wears shades in the studio, has a small fluffy toy on the desk he calls his mini-me, and is called DJ Ironic. I mean, could he be any more of a tosser? Oh wait, yes. Because he spells his name DJ Ironik. THAT'S how ironic he is: incorrect, phonetic spelling. He may as well add a question mark at the end and be done with it

But here is the thing: celebrity satire, especially with people like DJ Impossibly Massive Dickhead, is all too obvious. Slugging them with surrealism they aren't smart enough to get or quick enough to parry is the sucker-punch they never saw ­coming, and is very funny indeed.

Of course, there is a slight hitch to all this celeb-baiting fun. Namely, Vic Reeves's appearance on I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, which could have made this the equivalent of Angus Deayton on Have I Got News for You trying to be all ­clever-clever about the excess of celebrity after a night with call-girls and Colombian bam-bam.

But somehow it doesn't - because Shooting Stars never took itself seriously in the first place. Looking silly was ­always the point.