The Flyer's music writers tell you where you can go. Artists' work, we are told, should be separated from their sometimes erratic behavior. This seems particularly necessary in the case of Jay Reatard, the teenaged leader of the punk trio the Reatards. He not only heckles audiences from the stage, he heckles other bands from the audience, and he has developed a reputation for getting kicked out of every bar, coffeehouse, and party he manages to find his way into. But his rowdy rep seems far away -- and even unimaginable -- when he's on stage. The kid's got talent to spare. The Reatards can get fairly rowdy -- their record is called Teenage Hate, after all -- but the Lost Sounds, a trio that includes Reatard and Alicja Trout of the Clears and Ultra-Cats, are alarming for how rowdy they aren't. Their debut show a few months ago featured a split set with Reatard and Trout each taking a turn at the mike. The former's songs were loud, but not exactly raucous. Instead, they were poignantly played, gut-wrenching and true; beautiful -- as unlikely as that sounds -- in a way that seminal rockers like the Rolling Stones and the Replacements occasionally are. Neither group, I might add, were particularly good at behaving themselves. The Lost Sounds play this Thursday at the South End Saloon with Trousseau. The Reatards also make an appearance this week, Saturday at the Map Room with the Panic Buttons. -- Jim Hanas My live-music recommendation this week may seem like a no-brainer, but then we do tend to take no-brainers for granted. I know until a year ago I took my pick, B.B. King, for granted. I don't think I need to explain who King is. His story -- from Indianola to Beale and beyond -- is part of popular lore. His mug -- that round, warm face that beams at us in print ads and commercials for casinos and airlines -- is one of the most recognizable in the world. And even untrained ears can instantly recognize the high, moaning timbre of his guitar Lucille. Until last year, however, I had dismissed King as an artist past his prime who was coasting on his own brilliantly promoted celebrity. Big mistake. In the winter of 1998, after settling a years-old dispute with the owners, King returned to his namesake club on Beale Street for four shows. Having never seen the King of the Blues in person, I went to the first show and ended up attending the other three as well. Perhaps it was the intimate setting or being back in Memphis, but King was uniformly electrifying in all four shows. Backed by his road-tested, needle-sharp band, he filled the hall with his loud rumble of a voice, accenting each cry of emotion with a perfectly eloquent pull on his guitar. King returns to his club again this Monday and Tuesday, and I can't impress upon you enough how important it is for you to go see him. Starting at $35 for standing-room-only tickets ($100 for premium seats, which include a meal), it is a bargain, because behind all the hype is the real thing. -- Mark Jordan