See pictures, videos and original Times reports on the birth of punk here

Visitors familiar with the history of punk may be surprised at the sweep of the Barbican’s new exhibition. The curators of Panic Attack!, Ariella Yedgar and Mark Sladen, have avoided much of the obvious interplay between the music and fashion typically associated with punk to focus on parallel developments in visual art.

Familiarity is provided by some touchstone references. The first is Jamie Reid’s art-work for the Sex Pistols’ God Save the Queen – the exhibition marks the 30th anniversary of the single’s release. But a rejected version, with the monarch’s eyes replaced by swastikas, reminds us of the original inflammatory intent.

Other exhibits connect directly to the punk theme. Andrew Logan’s Homage to the New Wave, a giant stand-alone mirrored safety pin, evokes impish self-mockery. Jordan’s Dance, a short film featuring jerky footage of the eponymous sex shop assistant as a ballerina circling an inner-city bonfire, would form part of Jubilee, Derek Jarman’s still fascinating, visually audacious punk film.

The starkest of several representations of body as canvas occurs in a room commemorating the performance- art group COUM Transmissions’ Prostitution at the ICA in 1976. There the group member Cosi Fanni Tutti (aka Christine Newby) distributed pornographic “spreads” of herself. The Conservative MP Nicholas Fairbairn decried the performers as “wreckers of civilisation”. Had it not been for the Pistols’ TV appearance with Bill Grundy, this might have been the high-water mark for moral panic in the punk era.

Yet maybe only a third of the 30 or more artists on display have a direct or causal relationship with punk. And that is where things become more interesting. Several themes are explored: bodily transgression, the role of sub-culture as a means of dissent, the urban landscape and the use of the traumatised city as a metaphor for the individual and society. Abstraction and collage emerge as the most obvious methodologies. There are also strong elements of performance.

However, it is a shame that more was not made of the sub-culture of fanzine publishing and graphic design that attended punk’s rise. In focusing on the art scenes of London, New York and LA, the curators inadvertently support the dubious premise that the punk experience was wholly metropolitan. And some of the literature submits too readily to the folly that the Pistols were a Malcolm McLaren art project.

It’s easy to take issue with the chronology and some of the inclusions, such as Robert Mapplethorpe’s portrait of Patti Smith from the cover of her HorsesLP. Smith was fundamentally an old-school New York bohemian and often dismissive of punk, but her influence on punk-era British artists is inescapable. Jean-Michel Basquiat’s work more legitimately fits with the hip-hop tradition. Yet it is instructive that dynamic, abstract pieces such as King of Egypt II lean heavily on reclaimed city detritus and allegories of societal upheaval and anxiety. All very punk.

The success of Panic Attack! lies in this open challenge to accept or reject such associations. This is no primer on the meanings or essential dialogues of punk. And there’s a nostalgia circuit out there should you require immersion in your own prejudices. Thankfully, Panic Attack! is a little more demanding than that.

Of course, you can still just play the records if you prefer. Alex Ogg is the author of No More Heroes: A Complete History of UK Punk from 1976 to 1980 (Cherry Red).

— Panic Attack! Art in the Punk Years is at the Barbican Art Gallery, EC2 (020-7638 4141), until Sept 9

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