There's a universality to puppy love. This global understanding has fueled decades of lovesick pop songs, and the main thing that can be gleaned from this rich history of broken hearts is that everybody hurts in more or less the same way. Regardless of the oceans-wide separation of culture and politics and etiquette, unrequited love and scorched-earth breakups remain much the same. Whether you're down in the dirt or floating on air, that aching in the pit of your stomach is just about the most profoundly human thing you can experience.

Melbourne's Crayon Fields are not the first band to become fixated on lovesickness, but they do succeed in portraying it in just about the most unfuckwithable manner possible. Their hearts are planted firmly on their sleeves for all to see; there are no half-measures to be found. All the pain and elation of young love is presented in the form of pure pop songcraft, so crisp and so clean.

A lot of Belle & Sebastian fans have been disappointed with the band's recent output, starting at about Dear Catastrophe Waitress. For those people, Crayon Fields may be just the ticket. Sixties-inspired, the music of Crayon Fields is inarguably twee, but with the sharp-tongued lyrics that drew so many to Belle & Sebastian in the first place. While there is a sheen to Crayon Fields' second album, All the Pleasures of the World, it doesn't quite approach the AM radio glow that Belle & Sebastian adopted in their latter years (the polish that their fans seem to hate so much).

Rather, Crayon Fields are equally inspired by the pastoral, baroque pop of fellow Australians the Go-Betweens. While the Go-Betweens eventually stepped too far into the deep end of love - resulting in the band's implosion - Crayon Fields seem happy just to admire the objects of their affections from a distance. In album opener "Mirror Ball," lead singer Geoff O'Connor observes the power that this woman has over him, saying, "I look at you and suddenly I'm a virgin in a dance hall." That statement sort of perfectly sums up that quivering excitement you feel when you're young, naïve and confronted at long last with a real live girl or boy.

It doesn't take long before you realize how utterly powerless you really are.

"It's always been classic pop structures and songs and that sort of thing that we like," says O'Connor. "We always wanted the band to be fairly harmony-centered pop, I guess. We wanted to make kind of spooky pop songs."

Indeed, All the Pleasures is drenched in gorgeous harmonies that float atop light, airy instrumentation. I like to picture Crayon Fields appearing on one of those ‘60s lip-sync programs like Pop Gear, wearing sweaters, holding their guitars up to their collarbones, gently strumming and harmonizing on some soundstage in England.

Being that I rarely have the opportunity to speak with someone who lives on the opposite side of the world, I made sure to ask O'Connor how he felt American audiences differed from Australian ones.

"(American audiences) are great," says O'Connor. "They're a lot more open and seemingly enthusiastic than Australian audiences. ... People in America seem to be a lot more vocal and supportive in some ways."

Of course, he says, music is a lot more self-contained in Australia. It's so far away that bands tend not to tour there, with the exception of festivals. The Australian music scene is a fairly tight-knit one O'Connor told me. In some ways, as he described it to me, it started to sound like Tacoma's fenced-in scene ... but enough about that.

All the Pleasures of the World is a wistful excursion into the throes of teenaged heartache - the aching that comes with finding love, as well as losing it. Geography doesn't come into play because, no matter where you are, you've been where Crayon Fields is singing about.

Crayon Fields

With Karl Blau and Generifus
Sunday, Oct. 17, 8 p.m., $6
Northern, 321 Fourth Ave., Olympia
northernolympia.org