One of music’s greatest cosmic ironies is how ground zero for the expressionist rage known as death metal is located in easy driving distance from the Most Magical Place on Earth.
When a shaggy-haired headbanger named Chuck Schuldiner was 16, he helped lay the groundwork for one of death metal’s pioneering bands, Death, by co-founding the trio Mantas in Orlando, Florida, with two friends, guitarist Rick Rozz and drummer-vocalist Kam Lee. Bonded by a love of local thrash-metal bands and heavier fare from continental Europe, the musicians challenged themselves to play the grisliest metal they could muster.
Their woodshedding in Schuldiner’s family’s garage would lead to a crude demo tape, Death by Metal, which included the riff-frenzied “Evil Dead,” later included on Death’s debut LP, Scream Bloody Gore. Successive Death albums, including Leprosy (1988) and Human (1991), gave death metal an oft-mimicked sonic blueprint with floor-rumbling drums, speed-chugging, guitar, and Schuldiner’s guttural growls.
Schuldiner’s whole history is now the subject of a biography authorized by his family, Born Human: The Life and Music of Death’s Chuck Schuldiner, by David E. Gehlke. The author spoke with Schuldiner’s family, every musician who played with him in Death and Control Denied, and others who knew him before the 34-year-old died of cancer in 2001.
The exclusive excerpt here traces the origins of Mantas and the beginnings of Florida death metal, looking at each musician’s contribution to the genre and how everything fell into place.
Frederick “Rick Rozz” DeLillo was a semi-regular at suburban Orlando keg parties well before he was old enough to drive. Only four months older than Chuck, Rozz played guitar in Hidden Force and Thatcher, two local bands with only informal backyard gigs to their credit. Neither act had set foot in the studio while Rozz was in their employ, but it gave him some degree of live experience, bashing out Iron Maiden, Judas Priest and Kiss covers along with the occasional original number.
Even with the credibility and cool factor of already being in two bands, Rozz knew only a few like-minded individuals at Lake Brantley High School in Altamonte Springs — including Barney Kamalani “Kam” Lee, whom he met in art class. Lee was into punk, namely the Misfits, Samhain, the Plasmatics, the Clash, the Ramones and the heavier hardcore sounds of Discharge and G.B.H. He was also a skilled visual artist who could draw anything. Beyond that, Lee was a self-taught drummer and played with a local punk band, Invaders from Hell.
Lee had already started to accumulate some knowledge of underground metal by trading punk rock tapes with a contact in New York. This contact would usually reserve space for Bathory, Hellhammer, and Mercyful Fate on Side B of the tapes that they sent back and forth. Lee was especially interested in Bathory and Hellhammer because of their rawness and speed. It wasn’t until Rozz challenged him to draw Iron Maiden’s indomitable mascot, “Eddie,” from the Killers album that Lee had a valid entry point to the metal scene. Lee gladly accepted Rozz’s challenge and drew a near-replica of Eddie wielding a bloody scalpel, just like the cover of Killers. From there, the two became friends and eventual musical partners when Lee revealed to Rozz that he played the drums.
A trip to the local record store with Rozz netted Lee a copy of Venom’s Welcome to Hell, which promptly set the wheels in motion for the pair to start their own band, Mantas. The Mantas name served a dual purpose: It was the stage moniker of Venom guitarist Jeff “Mantas” Dunn, and it was the name of one of the first songs Rozz and Lee wrote together during their jam sessions, which were held in Lee’s cramped bedroom. For as limited as they were on room to rehearse, Rozz and Lee still managed to come away with the foundation for another original, “Demon’s Flight,” as well as a cover of Venom’s “Teacher’s Pet.”
The Rozz-Lee union was still in its early stages when the guitarist posted up at a typical suburban Orlando backyard party in late 1983. Rozz was sociable and demonstrably outgoing, which explains how he met a not-as-sociable and occasionally shy Chuck at the same gathering. Appearance may have been the deciding factor. Rozz was already starting to develop the look — his black, straight Cousin Itt–like hair (from The Addams Family) was nearing his shoulders. He looked like a rocker. Chuck, while still waiting for his hair to grow out, continued to rep a handful of Iron Maiden shirts along with a studded wristband. (Also of note: Chuck often tugged at his developing strands of curly hair with hopes of kickstarting their growth, to no avail.) Rozz had a developing mustache; Chuck had a mouth full of braces. Both came from good, stable families that migrated to Florida from New York State. (The DeLillo clan moved from Brooklyn to the Orlando area in 1977.) Perhaps most importantly, both loved metal and wanted to be in a band.
Rozz’s role in the development of Chuck’s nascent musical career cannot be understated. He was already into budding European metal acts such as Accept, Mercyful Fate, Raven, and Venom by the time he met Chuck. Rozz was also heavily influenced by Slayer. The blinding tremolo-picking approach of the Jeff Hanneman/Kerry King guitar tandem on their 1983 Show No Mercy debut made Rozz “want to play fast,” and so did Chuck. Though there were personality differences, Chuck had found a potential bandmate who spoke the same musical language as him.
Throughout that evening, Chuck and Rozz found common ground on music and school, with both of the opinion that attending class “sucked.” Rozz also casually mentioned he knew a guy, Lee, who could play the drums, but they needed a better place to practice. A wide-eyed Chuck couldn’t believe his good fortune. Chuck pressed Rozz for details on Lee, with Rozz indicating he’d played enough with Lee to know he was up for the task. Whether Lee was any good on the drums or not was irrelevant. He was their only option in the Orlando area. Chuck, without thinking twice, informed Rozz that his house could be their practice space. As the partygoers filtered out, the two exchanged numbers and planned their first jam session with Lee.
The Schuldiner two-car garage was an ideal setting since it was spacious and free to use. Attached to the house, the garage gave the home its L-shape, which partially sequestered the noise that would reverberate through a typical ranch home. It had a washer, dryer, and hot water tank, along with [Schuldiner’s dad] Mal’s camping equipment and tools. The garage was noticeably bereft of air conditioning and airflow. The guys described it as a “swamp,” typical of Florida. On the plus side, the Citrus St. neighborhood was not densely populated enough to generate noise complaints from neighbors. The Schuldiners were, at the time, surrounded by elderly families who either paid no mind to the teenage cacophony or simply couldn’t hear it. Best of all, Mal and Chuck’s mother, Jane, were completely supportive.
If getting into Kiss was phase one of helping him overcome the loss of his older brother, Frank [who’d died by suicide], phase two involved Chuck starting a band. “It was never an issue for Chuck to play in the garage,” says Mal, who soundproofed the space with insulation soon after the guys began playing together. “It was at the other end. We couldn’t hear it as much. We thought Chuck needed an opportunity and a good environment to play. Whatever they were playing always sounded good to me.”
Chuck Schuldiner
Dan Rock
Mal and Jane sensed that Chuck’s alliance with Rozz and Lee was far more serious than his previous hangouts with local guitarist Chad Robinson. It was all Chuck talked about after meeting Rozz. He was fascinated with the idea of “thrashing” in the garage, promising to bloody the ears of any and all comers, especially any unsuspecting neighbors who dared question their true intent of playing the heaviest music on earth. Chuck’s excitement over starting a band, though, coincided with his disinterest in school. Mal, an educator, became concerned about Chuck’s grades, as did Jane. But the two were reluctant to stand in the way of their son’s newfound obsession, as it genuinely made him happy, a rare occurrence since Frank’s passing.
Chuck was also now a good enough guitarist to actually be in a band. Formal lessons were still not an option, so Chuck took what he had learned from Chad Robinson and ran with it. He absorbed songwriting fundamentals from Kiss and Iron Maiden, then quickly grasped the basics of speed-picking to build strength in his right hand. And while it would not appear on his initial recordings, Chuck’s innate melodic sensibilities came from those early Maiden records, where twin guitar harmonies and spiraling solos reigned supreme. He did it all from the comfort of his bedroom. Save for his previous appearance with Robinson’s band, Brit Var, at a church festival, Chuck never played guitar in front of his family—they could only chart his progress through the sounds coming from his bedroom and, soon enough, their garage.
On the first day of practice with Rozz and Lee, Chuck asked Mal to move both cars out of the garage and for his parents to “stay out.” Mal acquiesced and even found a carpet for Lee’s drum set so it wouldn’t slide all over the floor. Chuck and Rozz had an easy time interacting during their initial rehearsal, catching up on some of the bands they had discussed at the backyard party. Chit-chat didn’t come as easily for Lee, who was meeting Chuck for the first time and trying to feel him out.
“At first, Chuck seemed a bit reserved,” he says. “Not introverted but rather more deeply in thought. He was very coddled by his mother, though, and so he was a bit spoiled — actually, a lot spoiled. It’s not Chuck’s fault, really, but considering his situation with his brother dying so young, you could tell it affected him and his mother to the point he was very sheltered — that was something you could tell. His fascination with death and dying was different than mine. I think he was coming to terms with losing his brother, so he processed it by facing it head-on, like almost saying to himself he wasn’t going to allow it to control and frighten him. Instead, he was going to embody it and become it. Unlike myself, where it was more or less an extension of horror and the macabre for me. He was more or less committed to conquering a fear of death instead of instilling it, whereas, with me, it was more like a morbid curiosity and a taboo intrigue. He was also a serious musician. You could tell he had a lot more respect for his craft than Fredrick.”
The first Chuck, Rozz, and Lee jam session included a hodgepodge of gear emblematic of three cash-strapped, budding young musicians. Chuck played out of a two-channel Peavey 2×12 cabinet and head that doubled as a PA system for vocals. Rozz borrowed a Hiwatt guitar cabinet and head from local guitarist Mark Carter (also of Rozz’s old band, Tempter), while Lee’s drum set was just good enough to handle the rigors of rehearsal.
With Lee stationed in the middle of the garage, Chuck to his right and Rozz on the left, Florida death metal was born on a mid-December 1983 day. The trio barreled through what little they knew: A Metallica cover, a rendition of Mötley Crüe’s “Live Wire” and Venom’s “Teacher’s Pet.” It was Lee — not Chuck — on vocals, employing a boom mic stand so that he could sing and play drums simultaneously, an impressive feat considering his relative youth.
Like Chuck and Rozz, Lee specialized in playing fast. His punk background immediately came in handy for speed metal: He had good meter and hit with plenty of ferocity. In fact, judging by future Death demos, Lee was an above-average drummer who likely could have landed any number of death-metal gigs had he stayed with the instrument. His stamina was never in question, nor was his ability to slow down for a mid-tempo groove.
The jam session was a joyous occasion for all three. Chuck occasionally cracked a smile while keeping a close eye on the fretboard; Rozz nodded along as the tresses of his hair moved from side to side; and Lee frantically kept pace and screamed until he was hoarse. The lack of acoustics within the Schuldiner garage meant there was little in terms of articulation. The practice sounded like an unrelenting fury of notes augmented by Lee’s regular bashing of the crash cymbal, but, if the trio’s stated purpose was to play the most extreme and feral music in the state of Florida, it was a success.
Satisfied with what they had accomplished during their first practice, Chuck, Rozz, and Lee decided to celebrate the occasion with a trip to the local drive-thru movie theater for a viewing of Sam Raimi’s cult classic film, The Evil Dead. It was a bonding experience for all three, as horror movies — like heavy metal — were a unifying thread. The teenagers took in the movie from Rozz’s 1967 Dodge Dart and reveled in its gore and bouts of the supernatural. When the ending credits rolled, the sun had already gone down, putting an end to one of the most consequential days of Chuck’s life. The following weekend, Chuck, Rozz and Lee began work on one of their first originals. The name? “Evil Dead.”
From Decibel Books’ Born Human: The Life and Music of Death’s Chuck Schuldiner. © Red Flag Media 2025. All rights reserved.
