The Story Behind My Name

Recently my recording catalogue has been receiving increased radio exposure, most notably Frisson, my latest album with the Czech Philharmonic Wind Ensemble. Spending some time listening to broadcasts from around the world, I was struck by the number of presenters who struggled to pronounce my name. To be fair, this is not confined to radio. It is something I encounter regularly in everyday life too.

For the avoidance of doubt, Shea rhymes with "day" – or, as I often explain, it is simply O'Shea without the O.

Yet the story behind my name is about far more than pronunciation. Like many family names, it carries traces of journeys, migrations and communities that stretch far beyond my own lifetime. In my case, those threads lead to Ireland, Serbia, East London and South Wales, and to generations of people whose experiences shaped the values and outlook I inherited.

My family history begins in very different corners of Europe. On my mother's side are Irish Catholics from Derry. My grandmother, Annie Sefton (née Lynch), grew up in the Bogside, a community whose history is woven into the story of modern Ireland. The Lynch family had deep roots there and, like many families in that part of the world, faith, family and perseverance were not abstract ideas but everyday realities.

On my father's side are the Lolins, a rare Serbian family from the Vojvodina region of northern Serbia. Family research suggests our roots extend further south into Montenegro before later generations settled around the town of Mol. My grandfather, Žarko "Jack" Lolin, was born there in 1925 and arrived in Britain in 1947, carrying with him a family story shaped by war, migration and the search for opportunity.

Those places could hardly seem more different. The Bogside in Derry and the plains of northern Serbia are separated by geography, language and history. Yet whenever I look at my family story, I am struck less by their differences than by what they shared. Neither side of the family came from privilege.

Both came from communities where life was often about survival rather than comfort. There was no assumption that opportunities would simply appear. If you wanted something, you worked for it. If circumstances changed, you adapted. If a door was closed, you found another route. My grandfather's story embodies that outlook perfectly.

When he arrived in Britain after the war, he initially settled in South Wales and worked in the coal mines around Newport. It was hard, demanding work, but he possessed a restless intelligence and an unwillingness to accept that circumstances should define the limits of his life. While working during the day, he attended college in the evenings, eventually qualifying as an architect. Over time he rose through the ranks of what was then the Welsh Water Board and became involved in the design and construction of major water infrastructure projects and dams, work that took him around the world.

I often think about that journey. A young immigrant arriving in post-war Britain, beginning in the mines and ending up helping to shape engineering projects on an international scale. There is something profoundly inspiring about that. Not because it is glamorous, but because it was achieved through determination, education and sheer persistence.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that I was born in Newport myself in January 1983. In truth, it was more a matter of timing than destiny. My parents' home was in Manor Park, East London, but my mother happened to be visiting family in Wales over Christmas and she stayed with family into the New Year 1983. My birth certificate may therefore say Newport, but East London is the place that shaped me.

I grew up in an area that was neither fashionable nor affluent. It was multicultural long before the word became fashionable. People arrived from every conceivable background and somehow made a life together. Different faiths, cultures, languages and traditions existed side by side. Looking back, I realise what a privilege that was. For me, diversity was never a slogan or a political position. It was simply normal life.

The East End taught me to judge people by their character rather than their background. It taught me that hard work matters. It taught me that people can disagree, believe different things and come from different places, yet still build communities together. It also taught me something else – pragmatism.

Not the cold pragmatism of lowering expectations, but the practical optimism of finding a way forward when circumstances are less than ideal. That idea runs through my family story. The Irish side. The Serbian side. The East End. Different places, different histories, but remarkably similar values.

The old upright piano that started my musical journey came from a rag-and-bone man. Music lessons were funded through the local authority music service. Opportunities were taken wherever they could be found. There was never really a grand masterplan. Things happened because people helped, because communities mattered, and because giving up was never much of an option.

Looking back, I can see that many of the decisions that have shaped my life and career have grown from those experiences. Whether conducting orchestras, producing recordings, building businesses or developing new projects, I have rarely waited for permission. If something seems worth doing, my instinct is to find a way to make it happen.

That outlook has served me well. It has taken me from East London to concert halls, recording studios and projects I could never have imagined as a child. It has also reminded me that talent alone is rarely enough. Communities matter. Teachers matter. Opportunity matters. Most of all, people matter. Perhaps that is the inheritance that matters most.

Not simply an Irish name or a Serbian surname, but a mindset handed down through generations of people who learned to adapt, persevere and keep moving forward.

So when people ask where the name Shea Lolin comes from, the answer is not just Ireland or Serbia. It is the story of Irish Catholics from the Bogside in Derry. It is the story of a Serbian family from Mol in Vojvodina. It is the story of a grandfather who came to Britain after the war and reinvented himself through education and hard work. It is the story of the multicultural East End of London and the opportunities created by communities that believed in ordinary people. It is a story of migration, faith, resilience, pragmatism and opportunity. And it is, in no small measure, the story of who I am.

Shea Lolin, July 2026