http://www.thetrashcollector.com/

The Trash Collector, Everett, WA (2026)

06/03/2026

SEVEN MUSICAL ARTISTS/GROUPS THAT CHANGED MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s

05: THE MONKEES

There have been innumerable bands created by opportunistic music producers looking to cash in on profitable trends, and few embody such an attempt more than The Monkees, and even fewer have proven to more successful. Looking to provide the public with a less-confrontational rival to The Beatles in 1966 via a weekly syndicated television series, the executives at NBC and Screen Gems hired four unestablished, screen-friendly musicians in which to showcase their prefabricated vision. Despite their egregious lack of contribution to the final musical product, the four “actors” they hired became the face of a band that would fulfill said contract, but would become so popular that they would eventually be given something just shy of free reign to display talents that went beyond being more than “a pretty face.” And for that, The Monkees are something of an enigma within rock music history.

Around the time I was five, maybe six years of age, my father’s youngest sister moved out of my paternal grandparents’ farmhouse, and for whatever reason decided to not only give up her meager record collection, but also pass them along to me. Included were six 12” albums, one by The Rolling Stones, two by The Beatles, and three by The Monkees. (Again, music wasn’t an important part of my life at this age.) That said, I immediately gravitated towards the latter three LPs by The Monkees as I was already well-familiar with the “Pre-Fab Four” on through reruns of the short-lived TV series that were still being broadcast on one of our local stations. I don’t know if the Stones and Beatles LP were ever played in full on my portable, child-friendly turntable, as the three Monkees albums quickly dominated whatever time I devoted to my now expanded vinyl collection that hadn’t been produced by Walt Disney Studios or Scholastic Books & Records. (It wouldn’t be until almost fifty years later that one of my pre-pubescent cast-offs--The Beatles’ Rubber Soul--would ultimately become of my favorite recordings from the era, but that’s a different story altogether.)

Songs built on infectious hooks and harmonies like “Last Train to Clarksville,” “Valleri,” “Steppin’ Stone,” “Pleasant Valley Sunday,” and “Daydream Believer” immediately became childhood favorites, with their impact being felt long after my initial exposure. Not only do they hold a nostalgic power, they capture what I feel to be some of the best pop hits of the 1960s. (Sure, there are significant portions of even their best albums which I rarely revisit, but the tracks that resonated with me then still hit hard now.)

Over the course of my life, I would occasionally “re-discover” The Monkees, with some of their output now holding a special place in my heart reserved by only a very few artists (most of which are included on this list). Even though I’m ashamed to admit that the majority of the songs that still appeal to me the most were never written by the band--instead conceived and/or performed by the likes of Boyce & Hart, Carol Kane, and the Wrecking Crew when they were put to vinyl--I still associate the lovable foursome that fronted the band with the end-product. And as much as I enjoy and appreciate some of their later work when they were finally allowed to display their individual talents, it is their earlier hits that still resonate with me the most so many years later.

The Monkees were never--when all was said and done--a formidable, creative rival to The Beatles. (Despite my young, ignorant self putting them on a much higher pedestal, decades before I realized just how important and influential The Beatles were in the grand scheme of musical history.) Regardless--in spite of my profound ignorance as a young listener--The Monkees continue to hold a special place as a band in my early musical education in which far better artists should have stood, considering their lack of creative input towards the songs that meant the most to me.

Photo Credit: Original LP Cover Art for THE MONKEES Self-Titled LP (1966) Colgems

06/03/2026

SEVEN MUSICAL ARTISTS/GROUPS THAT CHANGED MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s

04: JOHNNY CASH

There’s little I can add to the discussion about the lifelong work of this musical luminary, except how he made an indelible impression on me growing up, and how he continues to be one of my favorite artists outside of my usual go-to genres and sub-genres of music.

Since the vast majority of my family listened to country-western music during the 1970s, anything readily-available by Cash was a given. Unlike the majority of the more rural American musical acts I was spoon-fed on a regular basis, Cash’s output appealed to me in ways that most of the others didn’t, or couldn’t. His country-fried efforts truly stood out from what was being produced by the good-ole-boys and girls that dominated the genre at the time, and still resonate with me to this day. During my paternal paternal family’s frequent, alcohol-driven barn parties, I would eagerly await for the inevitable appearance of tracks like “Ring of Fire,” “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” “I Walk the Line,” or similarly evocative efforts to break the monotony of the less-interesting contributions that provided these evenings’ musical accompaniment.

Johnny Cash is one of those rare, exceptional artists whose work still appeals to me despite the limitations set forth by a genre in which he chose to exist and excel. Much like Dolly Parton, his unique voice and outstanding story-telling abilities has reached people like myself who would otherwise have little-or-no use for country-western music, a genre inherently dominated by right-wing politics and ignorant, conservative views. (As if I need to point out, I am unashamedly a left-leaning “libtard,” raised in a predominately rural environment that flagrantly took umbrage of my unorthodox views. Being “progressive” was not just unacceptable, but damn near heretical.)

When I first heard Cash’s cover of the Nine Inch Nails song Hurt, I was admittedly brought to tears. (Even songwriter Trent Reznor admitted that this very personal composition which he composed to document his descent into a personal hell had become what would be Cash’s emotionally-entrenched, re-interpreted swansong, recorded just months before his passing. This additional layer of self-reflection instilled a level of pathos to the material that could only be shared by someone much older, reflecting upon an extended lifetime of regret.) Like many of the musical artists who have left their mark on the medium, Cash was an imperfect human haunted by a life of poor choices, yet he addressed his failings until the very end through music, borrowed or otherwise.

Fifty-plus years later, Johnny Cash’s musical output not only scratches a nostalgic itch, but also embodies --for me--the most favorable and accessible elements of a genre that I usually relegate to the sidelines, a feat considering how much it evokes a part of my history that I would prefer not to revisit anytime soon. (I was also more-than pleasantly surprised to discover that at least three of his songs have--so far--appeared on the Fallout TV series, a wonderful series that just happens to be based on my favorite video game franchise.)

Photo Credit: Original LP Cover Art for JOHNNY CASH Ring of Fire/The Best of Johnny Cash LP (1963) Columbia Records

05/30/2026

SEVEN MUSICAL ARTISTS/GROUPS THAT CHANGED MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s

03: IRON BUTTERFLY

Along with Steppenwolf’s debut, my father owned the second and third full-length releases from Iron Butterfly, namely Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida and Ball. He rarely played the latter, but the former would more often make it’s way onto the family’s console stereo turntable. Although just as “heavy” as anything found on Steppenwolf’s self-titled LP, Iron Butterfly’s music was generally far more melodic despite the psychedelic meanderings. Much like The Ventures and Steppenwolf, it was the guitars that filtered through to my defective ears above everything else, especially when it came to the the titular track on the the earlier of the two efforts, Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida, This unorthodox inclusion was a crushing, seventeen-plus minute song that took up the entire second side of the album, a far cry from the usual succinct, two-plus minute tracks that dominated every other LP in my father’s record collection. Even as a child, the instantly recognizable riffage immediately seared itself into my psyche, proving almost just as impressive as Steppenwolf’s signature track.

It wasn’t until the mid-1980s--while I was deeply immersed in punk and hardcore--that my musical interests in 1960s counterculture culture and music fully took hold. For the first time, I began to explore not only the output of psychedelic luminaries as Jefferson Airplane and Jimi Hendrix, but also more obscure acts like Blue Cheer, The Electric Prunes, Love Sculpture, Moby Grape, The Seeds, and countless others who would inadvertently wander into my periphery, often as blind purchases from local yard sales and flea markets.

Without a doubt, though, Iron Butterfly secured their place from the onset as my gateway to psychedelic music, even if it took a full decade for me to find myself somewhat obsessed with the dated--but no less entrancing--stylings of the genre. (I also have to give some credit to The Byrds, whom I fell in love with during this time as well. Although I originally became a fan of their early folk-rock output, it was their more psychedelic experimentations like “Eight Miles High” that actually re-ignited my interest in this rock sub-genre.)

Although Iron Butterfly’s second full-length release, Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida is often considered their best (for obvious reasons), I consider their third LP Ball from 1969 pretty damn good as well. The brief but searing, feedback-laden introduction on the opening number, “In the Times of Our Lives,” undoubtedly laid the groundwork for my later love of industrial and noise rock some years later. (I also have a fondness for their 1968 debut, Heavy, which--despite it’s faults--doesn’t always receive the credit it deserves for cementing the eventual direction of psychedelic rock music.)

Photo Credit: Original LP Cover Art for IRON BUTTERFLY Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida LP (1968) Atco/Atlantic Records

05/30/2026

SEVEN MUSICAL ARTISTS/GROUPS THAT CHANGED MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s

02: STEPPENWOLF

Shortly after I was introduced to The Ventures at the tender age of four, my father then my acquaintance with two other, harder-edge outfits, namely Steppenwolf and Iron Butterfly. Whereas the half-dozen Ventures albums he owned didn’t seem out of place alongside The Beach Boys and Jan & Dean, the few well-worn LPs he owned from the previously mentioned bands seemed otherworldly in comparison.

Steppenwolf’s self-titled debut (which featured their signature, top-forty hit “Born to Be Wild”) was probably my introduction to anything that could be construed (at the time, anyway) as “hard rock” (as funny as that sounds in retrospect), and this song embodied that sound for me for many years to come. This album--and especially the featured single--was unlike anything else found within my father’s meager LP collection. (Aside--of course--from the two albums by Iron Butterfly, which were equally “heavy,” if not similarly subversive in sound.)

This song--more than any other found on the album in which it was featured-- displayed a raucous edge and heavy riffs that were far removed from anything which I was previously exposed to. Although I had already fallen in love with the sound of distorted guitars--thanks to the fuzzier tracks on Wild Things!--Steppenwolf’s titular track only helped cement my love for the instrument under sonic duress. So much so that, for many years to come, it became the biggest draw for me in music, hence my life-long, rock-heavy leanings. (It would also become the only instrument I would ever learn to play with even a modicum of proficiency.) Over the decades, I have gained an equal appreciation for other instruments, yet I still inevitably gravitate towards electric guitars in music.

I still consider “Born to Be Wild” one of the best rock songs of all time, and didn’t realize that it was a full-blown classic until over a decade later when I heard countless punk acts cover it. (None of which ever compared to the original, despite being faster and more in step with what I was mostly listening to at the time.)

Steppenwolf would produce at least three more albums which I still hold in reasonably high regard, but their debut--and especially the monster hit “Born to Be Wild”--still stands out as their best effort in my partly objective, but highly subjective opinion.

Photo Credit: Original LP Cover Art for STEPPENWOLF Self-Titled LP (1968) ABC Dunhill

05/28/2026

SEVEN MUSICAL ARTISTS/GROUPS THAT CHANGED MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s

01: THE VENTURES

As I mentioned in a FB Trash Collector post many years ago, my musical obsession began with The Ventures’ cover of The Troggs’ Wild Thing, with the limited vocals delivered by guitarist Don Wilson doing an admirable impersonation of horror film-legend Peter Lorre. Due at least in part to this cinematic reference, The Ventures’ surf and fuzz guitar-driven music cemented itself in my impressionable psyche. (Whereas Wild Things! was more fuzz-driven, other albums I had access to--like Walk Don’t Run, Telstar and the Lonely Bull, and Let’s Go!--were just as instrumental in my lifelong adoration for the band with their more exotic, reverb-heavy guitar-work that ultimately defined surf music.)

During the late-1980s, I became re-obsessed with The Ventures and their instrumental reinterpretations of popular songs from the eras in which they covered, collecting as many of their albums as I could find and/or afford. It was during this time I also began to explore the genre further, picking up what recommendations I could find at local record stores and flea markets, and later discovering even more obscure acts via the internet. (The Astronauts, The Avengers, The G-Men, The Sputniks… the list goes on.) Five-plus decades later, both 1960s surf music and garage rock have become two of my go-to genres to this very day, with a modest but impressive selection of such stylings securing a permanent place in my vinyl and CD collection.

Undoubtedly due to their vocal-bereft covers, I actually prefer most of my surf as instrumentals, regardless of the artist. (This also stands for many of the retro-surf outfits I have discovered throughout the years since, including such amazing bands as Man or Astro-Man?, who are easily one of my favorites.)

To this day, surf music--especially anything that I find even vaguely reminiscent of The Ventures 1960s output--is the sonic equivalent of “comfort food” for me, thanks to a novelty-light cover of a garage rock song delivered with a horror film bent featured on an album released two years before I was born. The Ventures’ cover of “Pipeline,” and even their original recording of “Walk, Don’t Run,” are so deeply cemented in my psyche, that these and other tracks never fail to satisfy that nostalgic itch.

Photo Credit: Original LP Cover Art for THE VENTURES Wild Things! LP (1966) Dolton Records

05/28/2026

SEVEN MUSICAL ARTISTS/GROUPS THAT CHANGED MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s

Introduction:

Sorry for the long-winded preface, but there’s a LOT I felt needed in order to put the following entries into context. If you don’t want to invest the time into reading my rather boring intro, don’t feel guilty for skipping the following and going directly into my top-seven influential bands. Seriously, no one will know you did. ;)

Since I needed a break from the films, television shows, and comic books that impacted me as a child growing up in the 1970s, I decided to instead focus on music, a medium that eventually became just as important to me, even if it didn’t have nearly the pull for me growing up. It wouldn’t be until my early-teens that music became an important--if not defining--part of my creative growth and identity, a facet that occasionally surpassed my previous cultural obsessions. (By the late-1980s, I found myself juggling every moment of free time between creating art, writing, and producing music, with me burning the midnight oil in my makeshift recording studio only after I felt I had fulfilled my day-time obligations as a struggling writer and artist.) My growing obsession with music compelled me from being a “casual listener” into a content creator, despite my complete lack of any training whatsoever, and any real knowledge or comprehension of what the medium entailed.

My introduction to music as a youngster was particularly limited, and any interest I had in music at the time was completely overshadowed by my obsession with film, television, comic books, and literature. (Another major contributing factor for my indifference was that I was diagnosed as legally deaf by the age of four, and spent much of my childhood undergoing numerous surgeries which eventually gave me moderate functionality, but leaving me unable to properly process and appreciate music until I was well into my teens.) The world of music was relatively alien, often undecipherable, although I was able to suss out enough to know what did and did not appeal to me. Much of what did reach me (and thus strike my fancy) laid the foundation for my later musical tastes--for better and (quite possibly) for worse. It’s all subjective, when all is said and one.

Again, my exposure to music--both new and old--was scant during my youth. Growing up on the edges of a rural community, the only music I was regularly experienced was through my family and other adults in my life. (Most of my childhood peers, sadly, had little to no interest in the medium, so their interests made almost no impact.) Aside from a few older singers like Judy Garland and Connie Francis, my mother was tuned into country radio, occasionally supplemented by a handful of well-worn cassettes by the likes of Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty. Aside from a dozen-or-so “rock” records he acquired during his teen years, my father would stack the family stereo console with K-Tel compilations of top-ten rock-n’roll hits from the 1950s and 1960s, which proffered the most watered-down examples of the genre. (He would later “progress” to the likes of Anne Murray and--surprising in retrospect--the disco-leanings of Abba.) My paternal grandfather was obsessed with classical fare, but--during my family’s regular, booze-fueled “barn parties”--would acquiesce and play even more country-western outings. (Being that my paternal side of the family originally emigrated from the more “conservative” southern states, anything with a “black” foundation was completely avoided. Genres like the blues, jazz, R&B, Motown, soul, and funk wouldn’t even reach my periphery until a decade later, aside from the occasional track I would catch on television from the likes of Soul Train or The Midnight Special while waiting for a horror or sci-fi film to air.)

Again, my induction into and eventual obsession with the world of music was gradual during my youth, and (aside from KISS) didn’t become an indelible part of my identity until the following decade. After leaving my family church in disgust by the end of the 1970s, I began to search out new music. With the help of a family friend, I found myself attracted to more modern, often female-fronted rock outfits like Pat Benatar, Joan Jett, The Runaways, and the Go-Go’s. A few years later, I found myself drawn towards “New Wave” outfits I heard on KYYX, in particular a band that would become one of my favorite artists of all time, namely Devo. As that trend became absorbed into pop music, I--as a frustrated and angry teen--made the jump into punk rock, its successor hardcore, and eventually other genres like metal, industrial, and the like. Along with these these more aggressive musical outlets, I also back-tracked into all of the genres that laid the groundwork for modern music, from 1960s counter-culture fare, to everything else that preceded and followed. By the late-1980s, the world of music had become vast and limitless… and I was enjoying every minute of it, even though my appreciation for all of it would continue to evolve over decades, a journey that continues to this very day.

That said, this series is devoted to the few (very few) artists that impacted before the inevitable expansion of my musical education, as gradual as it was. Again, keep in mind that my ignorance of music was “profoundly” limited before I consciously decided to reach out beyond whatever I was initially exposed to, even though that doesn’t deter from my adoration for the artists that precipitated such interests.

Addendum: I’ve included photos for the albums that remain my “favorite.” Keep in mind, these are not always considered their “best,” or the ones I may listen to more often decades after the fact; simply those that had the greatest impact on me during my youth, warts and all. ;)

05/13/2026

10: TEN COMIC BOOK SERIES THAT DIDN’T CHANGE MY LIFE DURING THE 1970s… BUT WHICH STILL DESERVE SOME ATTENTION

Conan the Barbarian (1970-1983)
Marvel Comics Group

For the final installment of this “ten best” series, I hemmed and hawed at this inclusion, but decided to finally include it even though there were many, far better 1970s titles that helped shape the evolution of the comics medium in the years to follow. Much like The Shadow, it was the comic book’s source material that ultimately had a greater impact on me as a child, and not Marvel’s 1970s interpretation (aside from some earlier, particularly exceptional efforts). Unlike the enigmatic pre- and post-WWII era vigilante who continues to captivate me to this day, I still have mixed feelings for Conan, even though the character’s illustrated exploits helped open me up to the world of fantasy/sword-and-sorcery fiction that would dominate my interests in later childhood.

During the late-1970s, I found myself becoming increasingly bored with the mainstream’s progressively dismal offerings of horror fare, my first-love. Likewise, science fiction had shifted from thought-provoking visions of the future to more action-oriented space operas popularized by the likes of Star Wars and its coat-riding ilk. (Not to dis The Force, as Lucas’ films provided an amazing update of the Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers serials that enraptured me as a young sci-fi fan.) So, for a few short years, I became enthralled by the more visceral, fantastical adventures of pulp-inspired sword and sorcery. (I was already a fan--being weened on the theatrical exploits of Hercules, Sinbad, and Jason of the Argonauts--so Conan was something of a worthy successor.) Since my expectations were not particularly high, I could more easily enjoy battles between resourceful barbarians and cocky sorcerers or bloodthirsty abominations, without putting too much stock into such minor details like motivation or consequence.

I was introduced to Conan’s existence via a comic book adaptation I bought during these years that featured Robert E. Howard’s Hyperborean adventurer in Marvel Comics Super Special #2, published in 1977. I distinctly remember buying this magazine on a lark from Adam’s Grocery, one of the three local outlets I relied upon for current comics. Most importantly, this was during a time I found myself enthralled with the fantasy genre following my introduction to J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, and--to a lesser extend--C.S. Lewis’ Narnia series. (These were the only offerings I managed to procure from my Grade School library, so options were scant.) I had just seen the Rankin/Bass animated adaptation of The Hobbit when it premiered on syndicated television, which introduced me to Tolkien’s exhaustive universe… as well as its less-literary peers.

Before long, I would seek out the source material for Conan, being Robert E. Howard’s serialized pulp stories originally published in the 1930s and 1940s, some of which were being reprinted in such monthly digests as Fantastic: Science Fiction & Fantasy Stories during the 1970s. (Unsurprisingly, these installments proved far more engaging than Marvel Comic’s truncated and sanitized reinterpretations.) Even though Conan proved little more than a two-dimensional character (especially as he was portrayed in the comics), it was his fantastic exploits and the world-building surrounding them that seduced me.

Regardless, Marvel’s full-color one-shot lead me to not only only the publisher’s more mature magazine-sized series, The Savage Sword of Conan (1974-1987), but also the early issues of what became the watered-down, mostly mediocre comic series Conan the Barbarian (1970-1993). (The first twenty-four issues of the all-ages comic would become the training ground for preeminent fantasy illustrator Barry Windsor Smith, of which I only obtained a handful of issues during the late 1970s as their value had grown in the few years since they were published, often outreaching my meager, allowance-driven budget.)

Over the next year-or-so, I would follow the titular barbarian’s adventures, but would soon lose interest in its shallow and poorly conceived entries. I was instead inevitably turning to the superior, pulp-oriented source material that was being collected in various paperback collections, as well as more mature comic books that better held my ever-growing attention, particularly The Uncanny X-Men. (In addition to that, my beloved horror genre was experiencing something of a growth spurt, especially when it came to films, with the likes of John Carpenter’s Halloween and Don Coscarelli’s Phantasm diverting my prepubescent, comic-centric attention away from “funny books” back towards film.)

Despite my infatuation with Howard’s mythos, my literary interests inevitably shifted towards similarly-conceived other worlds dominated with far more complex characters and backgrounds, such as Fritz Lieber’s Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser, and Michael Moorcock’s Elric of Melnibone, both of which offered some much-needed depth to the usual hack-and-slash antics that the genre (at least which I was afforded) generally dished out.

As a comic book, Conan rarely amounted to anything more than testosterone-ridden battles glorifying brawn over brains. Aside from Smith’s early contributions to the series (which are deservedly considered a watershed moment of the medium’s early Bronze Age when it comes to artistic excellence), the series produced little of real merit in the years that followed. (Some of Conan’s early appearances in Marvel’s Savage Tales and The Savage Sword of Conan magazines--produced outside of the CCA’s reach--were also exceptional when it came to the progressive evolution of comic books during the early 1970s--a trend which was reflected in other Marvel magazines at the time.) But--when all is said and done--Conan’s comic book appearances--at least for me--amount to little more than nostalgic drivel forty-plus years later.

As much as I am still besotted with Howard’s original stories and a handful of illustrated interpretations proffered during the 1970s, I don’t hold a particular fondness or nostalgic yearnings for much of the 1970s by-products that once appealed to me growing up. Still, I feel obligated to give it some credence, not for it’s historical importance to the medium, but for what it meant to me growing up in the 1970s.

Addendum: Although I was admittedly disappointed with Dino De Laurentiis’ portrayal of Conan in the character’s silver-screen portrayal in 1982 (despite some saving graces), it was easily one of the best theatrical offerings of the sword’n’sorcery genre for its time. (The only live-action effort produced during this era that I still consider to be truly exemplary for the genre is 1981’s Dragonslayer. Although something of a box-office flop upon its initial release, and surrounded by controversy due to mature content, it is--deservedly--now considered to be a classic.) Like myself, many invested film-goers were even more disgruntled by Conan’s inevitable sequel, as well as the money-grubbing spin-off that was Red Sonja (sadly short-changing what was one of Howard’s more inspired characters). Sure, Schwarzenegger embodied the role (for better and for worse), but said films didn’t do Howard’s material justice--as shallow as they were. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy the 2011 reboot directed by Marcus Nispel and starring Jason Momoa as the titular barbarian, which I felt better captured the essence of Howard’s mythology. (I may get some flack for this--considering the unfavorable reviews that reboot has received since its release--I still strongly feel that the 2011 film is a far better representation of the source material than previous celluloid and television interpretations, both in tone and ex*****on, even if it didn’t directly adapt the creator’s original stories. Honestly, if any genre film deserved a sequel, it was this. Well, that and 2012’s Dredd. Just saying…)

Please Note: To accompany this post, I’ve included the cover art for three early issues of the main series, which I consider to be some of the better examples of the run. (All by Smith, unsurprisingly.) Since I found his initial appearances in various Marvel titles equally memorable, I’ve also included three examples from Conan’s magazine-oriented titles as well. I am--once again--sharing scans which I have scraped from the internet, so no copyrights are given nor implied.)

Photo Credits:

Original Cover Art for Conan the Barbarian #19 (1972) Marvel Comics Group
Original Cover Art for Conan the Barbarian #20 (1972) Marvel Comics Group
Original Cover Art for Conan the Barbarian #24 (1972) Marvel Comics Group
Original Cover Art for Savage Tales #1 (1971) Marvel Comics Group
Original Cover Art for Savage Tales #5 (1974) Marvel Comics Group
Original Cover Art for Marvel Comics Super Special #2 (1977) Marvel Comics Group

The Trash Collector

06/03/2026

06/03/2026

05/30/2026

05/30/2026

05/28/2026

05/28/2026

05/13/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Establishment

Shortcuts

Share

Category