Ripe remembers sweating to hell in a basement underneath a Subway sandwich shop, building their very first songs in a concrete cube that smelled like fresh bread. They remember selling their first tickets by hand outside the coffee shop that their friends worked at, holding court like twenty-something impresarios trying to move like 50 tickets to a bar that was willing to let you keep the ticket sales if they kept the bar. In a world where we constantly feel the loving pressure to "tell our stor...