The Brief

This is the beginning of an AI-generated How To LA episode about an entirely fake story conceived by AI. To be clear: Los Angeles is not building an artificial island off the coast of Santa Monica.

But if this story were true, this would be a pretty How To LA way to start it.

AI-generated creations like this have been making the rounds for a while now. Kids have been getting in trouble for submitting essays written by ChatGPT and fake Drake videos have flooded TikTok. But every time I heard a new story about AI I kept asking myself: How will these new technologies impact journalism?

Before we get into the technical side of everything, we need to start with a much more basic philosophical question.

Have you ever worried about being replaced?

About six months ago, my friend showed me this new tool he’d been playing with. It wasn’t AI — it was an online version of a music synthesizer for kids, originally built in the '80s.

I should note: I have no musical background. I was not a piano or guitar kid. Yet with one or two mouse clicks, chords effortlessly flowed out from my computer — and it sounded beautiful. Simple, yet deep and rich.

There was something so captivating about this little music maker and the sounds it created. I sat there for hours.

Later that evening, as I contemplated the music I made as a non-musician, the thought appeared:

“Can my work make be made by a machine?”

“Am I going to be replaced? As a journalist? As a producer?”

The history of technology reflects a desire to automate. Molds for laying bricks. Horse-pulled plows. The cotton gin. Coal and steam.

When electronic synthesizers became affordable and available to the public, it opened the door for countless new musicians to produce music in their homes.

There was also a shift in human labor. Fewer instrument makers, fewer performers.

People in the industry raised concerns, but the tools stuck around and defined a decade of music.

There seems to be some innate human desire to find quicker, easier, more efficient ways of doing a thing — which takes us down a rabbit hole of existential questions. Is there something deeply human about reducing human work? If left unchecked, would we invent our way out of needing to work at all?

Our experiment 

Much like the synthesizer in its day, today’s tools for audio automation would seem like science fiction just a few years ago.

The most alarming leap, for me, is in voice-synthesis. Gone is the hyper-digital, robotic voice. Apple’s Siri required decades of labor and thousands of audio samples to develop, and cost millions.

Now you can make a passing clone of your voice in your bedroom, with two minutes of audio samples, for about a dollar.

Similar leaps can be seen in AI tools for writing and image-generation. These technological leaps came fast, and the shockwaves were wide-reaching.

Earlier this year, artists filed lawsuits against companies behind image-generation AI tools, the Writers Guild of America went on strike to (among other things) include AI in their contract, and more and more people, myself included, started to ask themselves if their job could be automated next.

I decided to design an experiment to find out. I would ask ChatGPT, a language-generating AI tool, to write me a podcast script for the show I work on, How To LA. Then I would use a voice-cloner to do the voice acting.

How we tested

To test the capabilities, I used the free version of ChatGPT and a $1 subscription to vocal synthesizer ElevenLabs. I gave the bots a quick prompt, held my breath, and clicked “go.”

Everything worked, easily. It was exciting, but deeply unnerving. I had what felt like a response to my replacement question, and I didn’t like the answer.

I decided to take the audio produced from this experiment, along with my existential, philosophically dreadful musings, and pitch my supervisors at LAist: “Let’s make a fake podcast.” LAist gave me something of a yellow-light.

They liked the idea, but this was inching very close to dangerous territory for a news organization. A place where the mission is fact-based journalism, and in an industry that is in a constant state of flux.

As we deliberated whether or not to do this, the news kept flowing around us. Planet Money released a similar project to my pitch. President Biden led a conference about AI’s risk to national security.

My editor and I arrived at the feeling that, whether we liked it or not, these tools are here. They’re cheap, and they’re available to the public.

If someone is going to use AI to create a fake podcast, we felt like it should come from a team that could be most impacted by it.

So we replaced our host with a voice-synthesizer, and we replaced me with a chatbot.

Creating the podcast

Once I got the greenlight, the actual creation process was straightforward. I sat down with my editor, Megan Larson, and began a new conversation on the premium, $20/month version of ChatGPT.

We submitted the following prompt:

The language choice in a prompt is important. ChatGPT has safeguards in place designed to prevent it from giving false information. These don’t always work, but a good way to trigger this safeguard would be to ask it to lie to you.

Doing so would prompt ChatGPT to say something along the lines of “sorry, but no.”

A demonstration of the guard rails put imposed on ChatGPT so it does not intentionally mislead with an untruth about a public figure.

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Evan Jacoby

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We found that adding the phrase, “fictional scenario,” prevented this safeguard from activating.

My editor and I decided to act as though ChatGPT were a reporter pitching us several stories for our show. We asked ChatGPT to select one story from its list of ten.

We were lukewarm on its selection, so we nudged it towards another option from the list. Any reporter will tell you this is a common experience when pitching stories to editors — they might like some of your ideas, but probably not all of them.

Now that we had a topic, we asked first for an episode summary, then for an act breakdown and list of sources, and then finally for a script.

We found that asking for the script act-by-act led to longer, more detailed, and more interesting responses.

There’s a reason for this: Asking for a “5-minute script” isn’t going to get you anywhere, because of a quirk in how generative-language models work.

ChatGPT is only capable of making certain kinds of predictions. It’s great at creating sentences with a certain rule, such as a word count.

Screenshot of a prompt given to ChatGPT: "Write a sentence with 12 words in it"

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Evan Jacoby

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But if you ask it to predict the number of words it will write, it fails. If you ask it to reflect on its writing and tell you how many words it’s written, it fails that, too.

A screenshot of ChatGPT that shows the limitation of what the AI software can do

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Evan Jacoby

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This is because GPT 4.0 and GPT 3.5, versions of the technology behind the ChatGPT interface, is not capable of predicting backwards.

It can make predictions for what the next word should be, but it can’t use that information to rewrite something it’s already written.

This is why longer paragraphs written by ChatGPT often seem contradictory, and it’s a major difference between how humans write. It’s also why ChatGPT is bad at math.

In other words, “it’s not smart,” USC’s Mike Ananny told us in a previous podcast episode. It simply repeats patterns that already exist to generate what it thinks is a “standard” example of what you are asking it to do.

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Can AI really write the next critical hit? We explore what artificial intelligence really is, how technology like ChatGPT is changing the game.

AI Explained: It's Not Coming For Your Writing Job...Yet

Can AI really write the next critical hit? We explore what artificial intelligence really is, how technology like ChatGPT is changing the game.

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Steering the beast

In the full log of our conversation with ChatGPT, there are several times where we ask the AI for clarity, to add a source, or to reframe its reporting in a more unbiased manner.

Our goal was to treat this process similarly to the feedback a reporter may expect from their editor during the course of their reporting.

Once the full script was written, I took the individual lines and fed them into another AI tool called ElevenLabs, which offers voice cloning. They charge by word count, and we ended up needing to upgrade to the $22/month subscription due to the length of the script.

How To LA host Brian De Los Santos agreed to let his voice be the voice and likeness for this project. Other voices include myself, my editor Megan Larson, members of the How To LA team, and my mom.

Choosing which voices were the best fit for which characters is another area where my bias shaped the end result.

Psychological and legal implications of AI-generated disinformation

Disinformation affects us even if we know it’s false, for the same reason that fiction affects us: Fake stories are still stories.

AI-powered disinformation campaigns are already observable in politics. In early June, the Ron DeSantis presidential campaign published an attack-ad with fake images depicting former President Donald Trump hugging former White House Chief Medical Advisor Dr. Anthony Fauci.

Even once you realize the story you heard is fake, “there's a visual image in people's brains, and it lingers” says Alka Roy, founder of the Responsible Innovation Project.

“That subtle psychological impact cannot be dislodged,” Roy says. And people can take advantage of this effect.

This threat isn’t confined to images; it extends to AI-generated audio and text as well. “If it's pretty much designed to deceive you — not communicate with humans, but actually mimic them,” Roy says, then there is an inherent risk for public confusion.

The tricky part is that within politics, and especially with current government officials, this sort of disinformation is probably legal.

This is part of the legal precedent established in the famous New York Times v. Sullivan ruling, according to Eugene Volokh, a law professor at UCLA who specializes in law and technology.

That landmark 1964 Supreme Court case ruled that the First Amendment protects factual inaccuracies, arguing that this protection allowed public debate to be: “uninhibited, robust, and wide-open, and that it may well include vehement, caustic, and sometimes unpleasantly sharp attacks on government and public officials.”

Volokh says this can apply to intentional deception, too. “It's just too dangerous to have the government put people on trial for, say, conspiracy theories,” he says. “We leave it for public discussion.”

A transfer of power?

Whenever AI tools are used, including those used for this experiment, they are trained by the user.

When we asked ChatGPT to elaborate on certain source interviews, or to try a more conversational approach for a certain line in the script, it learns how to adapt and better match our preferences.

As these tools become better and better, they need less user input to generate the desired results.

The threat of human displacement comes back into question.

“Think of when you bring in an intern or a new employee,” Roy says. As they learn how to do things, and as you show them the ropes, they get better and better. “And if they're really good and savvy, eventually you work for them.”

But as scary as this threat of AI is, there might still be a silver lining. Even if the day comes when AI starts to match — or even surpasses — our skill, Roy says it’s not just doom and gloom.

“We could all look very perfect if we went and got plastic surgery, but what a boring world that would be,” Roy says.

Her point is that the real edge humans have over AI isn’t our skill, but rather our imperfections.

“That's where you’ll find our imagination and creativity and our uniqueness,” she says.

Leave perfection to the machines.

If you want to hear the full expert commentary of our experiment, you can listen to the full episode below.

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#122: NOTE: This podcast episode contains AI-generated content that is not true. The AI-generated section is clearly delineated, and experts join us to explain the legal and ethical implications. Have you ever worried about being replaced? HTLA producer Evan Jacoby explores this question as it pertains to AI, and what kind of role it may one day have in journalism. Guests: Eugene Volokh, professor of law and technology at the University of California, Los Angeles, and Alka Roy, founder of RI Labs & the Responsible Innovation Project. For a detailed breakdown of exactly how our AI-generated content was made, check out our companion post over on LAist.com/HowToLA

F(ai)K News: What Happens When You Replace Journalists With AI

#122: NOTE: This podcast episode contains AI-generated content that is not true. The AI-generated section is clearly delineated, and experts join us to explain the legal and ethical implications. Have you ever worried about being replaced? HTLA producer Evan Jacoby explores this question as it pertains to AI, and what kind of role it may one day have in journalism. Guests: Eugene Volokh, professor of law and technology at the University of California, Los Angeles, and Alka Roy, founder of RI Labs & the Responsible Innovation Project. For a detailed breakdown of exactly how our AI-generated content was made, check out our companion post over on LAist.com/HowToLA

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Raul Malo, the leader of the country band The Mavericks and one of the most recognizable voices in roots music, died Monday night, according to a representative of the band. The guitarist and singer had been battling cancer.

He was hospitalized last week, forcing him to miss tribute shows staged in his honor at the Ryman Auditorium over the weekend. He was 60 years old.

"No one embodied life and love, joy and passion, family, friends, music and adventure the way our beloved Raul did," read a statement released by his family.

Malo's group, The Mavericks, mourned the loss of their leader in a social post.

"Anyone with the pleasure of being in Raul's orbit knew that he was a force of human nature, with an infectious energy," the statement read. "Over a career of more than three decades entertaining millions around the globe, his towering creative contributions and unrivaled, generational talent created the kind of multicultural American music reaching far beyond America itself."

Over a career that lasted four decades, The Mavericks lived up to the band's name, challenging expectations and following a roadmap crafted by Malo's expansive musical upbringing as the son of Cuban immigrants in Miami.

"I grew up in a very musical household. There was all kinds of music around always," he told WHYY's Fresh Air in 1995. "We listened to everything from Hank Williams to Celia Cruz to Sam Cooke to Bobby Darin. It didn't matter."

In 1992, Malo told NPR that his widespread influences weren't always understood or appreciated in his South Florida hometown, but he said that his struggle to fit in taught him to trust his instincts. Malo had become the guitarist and lead singer for The Mavericks in 1989, alongside co-founders Robert Reynolds and Paul Deakin, and his roaring, sentimental voice defined the band's sound and remained its constant as the group's catalog moved from slow, tender ballads to full-throttle rock songs. In 1995, the band released its biggest hit with "All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down," a swinging country song featuring an assist from Tex-Mex accordion legend Flaco Jimenez.

As the band grew in members and devoted listeners, The Mavericks continued to push the boundaries of American music, weaving a richly layered tapestry of textures and stories. With more than a dozen studio albums, The Mavericks collected praise and recognition from the Academy of Country Music, the Country Music Association and the Recording Academy. Although they took a hiatus for several years, Malo never stopped making music — and returned to his bandmates with renewed inspiration.

Following its 30th anniversary, the group released its first full-length Spanish album in 2020, aptly titled En Español. The record reimagined Latin standards and folklore-tinged popular tunes; it also made an implicit political statement about Latin music's contributions to American culture.

"In our own little way, if we could get somebody that perhaps is on the fence on issues and hears us singing in Spanish and perhaps reminds them of the beautiful cultures that make up what this country is trying to be and what it should be, so be it," Malo told NPR at the time. "Yeah, I'm OK with that."

The following year, the Americana Music Association recognized The Mavericks with the Trailblazer Award. In 2024, the band released its last studio album, Moon & Stars. The release coincided with news of Malo's cancer diagnosis, which he discussed openly with NPR's Ayesha Rascoe.

Before being hospitalized last week, Malo had been scheduled to perform with The Mavericks at a pair of tribute concerts held this past weekend at the legendary Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Over 30 artists, including Patty Griffin, Jim Lauderdale and Steve Earle, still gathered to pay tribute to Malo, with some of the proceeds of the night going to the cancer prevention organization Stand Up To Cancer.

According to his spokesperson, though Malo was too ill to attend, the concert was streamed to his hospital room Friday night.

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The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department has mostly blocked efforts to investigate misconduct within its ranks, according to the county inspector general, who announced his retirement Tuesday after 12 years on the job.

In an open letter, Max Huntsman cited examples of how the county has thwarted his efforts to watchdog the department, which in the past has been plagued with accusations that deputies use excessive force and lie on the job.

Huntsman said one example is former Sheriff Alex Villanueva’s misuse of criminal enforcement powers to discredit critics, such as opening an investigation into former County Supervisor Sheila Kuehl.

Villanueva was sheriff from 2018 to 2022.

“My requests for investigation were rejected,” Huntsman’s letter reads. “Even after receiving an official subpoena, the Sheriff’s Department has failed to turn over records regarding the improper surveillance.”

He added: “Sometimes members of the public wonder if frightening new surveillance techniques will be used for improper purposes under the guise of criminal investigation. Sadly, the answer is yes.”

Before becoming inspector general in 2013, Huntsman, 60, was a deputy district attorney who specialized in public corruption. He told LAist on Tuesday that the inspector general job wasn’t something he wanted initially.

“I didn’t want to go work for politicians,” he said. “But the need to provide some kind of independent reporting and analysis was significant.”

The Sheriff’s Department issued a statement saying it valued the Office of the Inspector General and all county oversight bodies and that it wished Huntsman and his family well in his retirement.

The department said it “continues to make great strides in advancing the department in a transparent manner.”

LAist also reached out to the county CEO and county counsel for comment, but they declined.

After George Floyd

In the letter, Huntsman says the state of California has come a long way in strengthening the power of local law enforcement oversight bodies, in part because of the 2020 murder of George Floyd by police in Minneapolis.

After widespread protests — and lobbying by Huntsman — the state provided authority to inspectors general to enforce subpoenas requiring law enforcement agencies to hand over documents and authorized external investigation of police misconduct, including deputy gang conduct.

The Sheriff’s Department — backed by county lawyers — has resisted.

“Los Angeles County may not follow those laws, but it will not be able to avoid them forever,” Huntsman wrote. “The county refuses to require the photographing of suspected gang tattoos in secretive groups that the undersheriff has identified as violating state law.”

“Just a few weeks ago, we requested some information regarding an investigation, and a pair of commanders refused to give it to us,” Huntsman said in an interview with LAist.

Origin of the office 

The Inspector General’s Office was created by the county Board of Supervisors in 2013 in response to a scandal that included former Sheriff Lee Baca covering up the abuses of jail inmates.

Baca went to federal prison.

Since then, the office has issued dozens of reports with recommendations for improving living conditions inside jails that some have described as “filthy,” stopping abuses of juveniles inside juvenile halls and providing shower privacy for inmates as part of the requirements under the Prison Rape Elimination Act.

“All of these abuses were reported by the Office of Inspector General and recommendations were ignored,” Huntsman wrote. Often, it took court orders to enact change.

“When we first blew the whistle on the torturous chaining of mentally ill prisoners to benches for 36 hours at a time, it was only a court order that ended the practice,” he wrote. “Time and time again, this pattern repeated itself.”

Huntsman wrote the county has permitted the Sheriff’s Department to block oversight and defunded the Office of Inspector General by removing a third of its staff.

“It's not surprising the county has driven out two successive chairs of the Sheriff Civilian Oversight Commission,” he wrote.

“Government always claims to value transparency and accountability, but shooting the messenger is still the most common response to criticism,” Huntsman wrote.

Despite setbacks, Huntsman values work 

Huntsman told LAist on Tuesday that he was proud of his career as a public servant.

“I’ve really enjoyed the work and I’m sad to have it end,” he said.

It’s a sentiment he echoed in his letter, adding that despite the setbacks and roadblocks, he was proud of the people with whom he shared the office.

“It has been my honor to work with a talented, brave and tireless group of public servants to ensure that the public knows what its government is doing,” he wrote.

He noted the inspector general’s reports are fact-checked by the office and public.

“When government abuses occur, they are sometimes kept secret, but that is no longer the case for much of what is happening in Los Angeles County,” Huntsman wrote. “What you do about it is up to you.,”

Huntsman’s last day is Friday.

Topline:

The backstory: Last month, the council's Transportation Committee voted to bring a proposal forward to implement a policy change that allows the city to impound and immediately destroy abandoned or inoperable RVs worth less than $4,000. The change is inspired by new state law AB 630, which was created to prevent previously impounded RVs from ending back up on the street.

The motion, authored by Councilmember Traci Park, reports that abandoned RVs pose as public and safety hazards.

What's next: Councilmember Nithya Raman requested that an implementation plan be presented to the council's public safety and housing and homelessness committees.

Go deeper: L.A. pushes policy to make it easier to remove RVs from city streets.